


Echoes of Darkness

by Robin4



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dark One's Dagger, Evolution of the Dark One, F/M, Gen, The Dark One (Once Upon a Time)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-26 12:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5005240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin4/pseuds/Robin4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Think of me as your guide, but only until you've learned to embrace your powers.”  But the Dark One lies.  That voice, that presence never truly leaves—no matter how you try to fight it.  Rumplestiltskin knows that better than anyone: he listened to it for 300 years.</p><p>This 'verse is open to prompts!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Desperate Soul

The scaly face in front of him changed abruptly to match that of the beggar Rumplestiltskin had tried to help just the night before, and suddenly he understood.  He had been _tricked._ Manipulated.  Lied to.  He had thought he could take the Dark One’s power and turn it to good, but a strange feeling was beginning to form in the pit of his stomach.  It wasn’t terror; no, it was darker, darker and _cold._ Fury replaced terror, or tried to; there was still enough human in him to try to fight that back.  As Rumple watched in horror, however, Zoso’s breath rattled in his chest.  Had he really just stabbed a man, the _Dark One_?  How could he have been such a fool?  His temper had gotten the better of him, and now he had murdered someone, all for power—

“Looks like you made a deal you didn't understand,” Zoso rasped, a ghoulish smile lighting up his face.  “I don't think you gonna do that again.”

Finding words was hard.  “You told me to kill you!”

“My life was such a burden. You'll see. Magic always comes with a price.  And now…it's yours to pay.”

“Why me?”  Why would anyone want a poor and desperate spinner to take on power like this?  _Magic?_ Magic had never brought anything good into his life.  Why had he reached for it now?  “Why me?”

The Dark One was struggling for air.  The words were a faint whisper:  “I know how to recognize a desperate soul.”

“No!   _No!_  Stay!  You have to tell me what to do! Tell me _what to do_!” He had never had power.  He couldn’t do this alone.  How would the town coward know how to use magic?  He had the dagger, but that was just used to control the Dark One, wasn’t it?

Feeling sick, Rumple pulled the dagger from Zoso’s body, realizing with horror that _his_ name was now engraved in the blade.  _He_ was the Dark One.  Rumplestiltskin.  The Dark One.  The very thought was ludicrous. 

So was the fact that his hand was beginning to change color.  But he barely got a chance to even _register_ that before the world went dark, and Rumple felt something _twisting,_ changing, and spreading within him.  He felt like wet, black, darkness was seeping into his bones, racing through his system while he tried to scream that he couldn’t do this.  He had a son to get home to—and if he had power, why couldn’t he _see_?  Everything was blank, everything was dark, and Rumple had never been so cold in his life.  Even the worst days of winter were not like this, not even when he had piled the blankets up around Bae, who had caught the Sweating Sickness and suffered for weeks and weeks.  This chill sank straight into his blood, making him shiver and shake and terrified.

He felt like his body was made of oil.  He was conscious, though, perfectly aware of _something_ happening, but he couldn’t feel his limbs.  Not any of them.  Nothing made sense, but he could feel the pressure of dark magic surrounding him, shaping him.  Reforming him?  He had no idea what was happening, but finally, the darkness receded.

Blinking, Rumple realized that he stood on a disk of some sort, deep in a forest he didn’t recognize.  He couldn’t read the runes, but they looked ominous.  He was lucky that he could read and write at all; his aunts had made sure he had a rudimentary education that most peasants lacked, yet he still didn’t recognize the platform on which he stood.  Shakily, he tested out his arms and legs, feeling his body with both hands, desperate to make sure that he was solid again.  Thankfully, he was, though his skin had taken on a worryingly gray tinge.  But where was he?

“The Vault of the Dark One,” Zoso’s voice suddenly said, and Rumplestiltskin’s head jerked up from staring at own body. 

A long moment passed before he could manage to speak.  “Wh—what?  I just, I just _killed_ you!”

“You’re going to have to stop stuttering.  That’s an unbecoming trait, particularly in the Dark One,” was the immediate response.  “Though I have to admit that _most_ of my hosts aren’t mewing desperately and asking their predecessor to stick around.  That’s new.”

“Wh-what?”

“There you go again.  Please tell me you don’t stutter like this _all_ the time.  We’ll go mad.”  Zoso sighed, stepping forward and peering down at Rumplestiltskin.  The smaller man flinched back, which only made the Dark One groan.  “You were brave enough when you went in to steal the dagger.  Why so frightened now?  I’m dead.  I can’t hurt you.”

The dagger.  Somehow, _that_ got through the confused fog in Rumple’s mind.  But it wasn’t in his hand.  Neither was his walking staff—yet he stood normally enough.  He could walk!  For the first time in fourteen years, Rumple was able to stand without pain, and balancing was easy.  He almost laughed out loud before he shook himself.  There was a dangerous sorcerer standing in front of him impatiently, and if there was one thing any peasant learned at birth, it was not to anger your betters.

“Who are you?” he asked tentatively.

“Many things.  You might say that I’m the voice in your head, or all of the Dark One's powers inside you, inside all the Dark Ones.  Zoso was merely the last in a long line of Dark Ones.  You are the next.”

Blinking, Rumple squinted at the man—or not-man.  Was he just an apparition?  “Can…can anyone else see you?”

“Finally!  An intelligent question.”  Zoso still looked annoyed, though.  “And no.  No one else can see me or hear me, so if they see you doing so, they’ll think you mad.”  A smirk.  “Not that many _won’t_ think you mad, regardless.”

“I’m not mad,” Rumple objected, his voice quiet.

“That remains to be seen.  Speaking of which, stop thinking of yourself as ‘Rumple’.  It makes you sound like you _want_ someone to step on you.  Your full name is no better—and I shudder to think of what idiot came up with it—but at least it’s more impressive than ‘Trample Me Because I’m Weak’.”

He could only gape, but thinking of his own weaknesses made Rumplestiltskin think of Baelfire.  “My son!” he gasped, wheeling to face Zoso’s sneer.  “How do I get back to him?”

“A better question would be how you get back to the dagger before someone finds it and controls you.”

Rumplestiltskin shivered convulsively.  _My life is such a burden,_ the real Zoso had said.  But that couldn’t be because of the power, could it?  The power made Rumple—no, _Rumplestiltskin_ —feel worlds better.  He could walk unaided.  He could stand without pain.  He felt like he could run for hours and hours without being tired.  The power was nice, was useful, so Zoso must have been talking about how being controlled felt.  Just thinking of it made Rumplestiltskin feel sick, genuine nausea rolling around in his too-empty stomach.  _When was the last time I ate?_   But that thought was easy to push aside.  He wasn’t really hungry; he was more worried about the dagger.

“It can make a slave of you, you know,” Zoso continued conversationally.  “That’s the secret that your predecessor didn’t tell you.  If someone holds, they hold your soul.  And there’s no escape.”

“You— _he_ —escaped.”

“In a hurry to die, little man?”

“No!”  Scowling, Rumplestiltskin stepped off of the upper disk of the Vault, eying his predecessor—or not-predecessor—warily.  _This isn’t actually Zoso,_ he reminded himself.  _Assuming that he’s telling the truth._   Yet he knew, somehow, that Zoso wasn’t lying.  Not about this.  Still, it paid to be cautious.  “You…you said that you’re the Dark One.  Inside me.  Like you were for all the others?”

“Yes.”  Zoso rolled his eyes, as if sick of providing this explanation.  “I’m here to teach you to use your powers, how to revel in the darkness.  I’ll be here until you _fully_ embrace being the Dark One.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

Zoso smiled, his grin a mouthful of rotting teeth and vicious pleasure.  “It means that you’re stuck with me until you do something terrible enough to make me go away.”

“Ter— _terrible_?” he was stuttering again, and the Dark One was right.  Rumple— _Rumplestiltskin_ had to stop that.  No one would respect him if he continued to act like the coward.  “I don’t want to do something terrible.  I only want to save my son—and all the children.  I want to end the war that _you_ were too weak to stop!”

“Don’t cast stones at me, Dark One.  That was the Duke of the Frontlands.  Now _that_ man knew how to control one of us.  He was cold and unbending, and very demanding.  Though not quite as clever as his father.  He let Zoso get away from him, and now he’s lost the dagger.”  The not-Zoso gestured in mock helplessness.  “But he wanted the war, so it continued, utter waste of the power though it was to intimidate little peasants into fighting.”

Rumplestiltskin gaped.  “Why would he want a war that kills his people?”

“Power, of course.  The ability to send people to die is the ultimate form of power, after all.  Even if it is only peasants.”

“Only—?” He couldn’t quite swallow that.  Yes, life had taught Rumplestiltskin that the nobility didn’t particularly care about their inferiors, but nobles died in the war, too! 

“You’re terribly sheltered if you don’t see it.”  The Dark One rolled his eyes, and then folded his arms across his chest.  “Fine.  I’ll explain it, if I must.  But pay attention.  I’m not here to coddle you.”

“I don’t need coddling—”

“Of course you do.  Here’s how it works.  The Duke likes power, and the ogres are a problem for many kingdoms.  So he uses the Dark One—that’s _you_ , now—to drive the ogres towards the Frontlands.  But only if the other kingdoms and duchies around here pay up.  They pay him, and he sends soldiers to fight the ogres so that no one else has to.  Get it?  Population control via lining the treasury.  Peasants fighting wars against terrible creatures that might destroy their homes don’t start revolts, either, so that’s another plus.  And all the troublesome minor nobles meet grisly ends, too.  Doubly good!”

“That’s…that’s sick.”  His people, his neighbors, were dying to give the Duke more _gold?_   The men he’d gone to the front lines with back as a youth, they’d died to keep difficult nobles out of power?  Rumplestiltskin felt anger coursing through his veins.  It wasn’t fair.  It wasn’t _right_.  The Duke had always said that they were protecting their lands, but he was bringing the ogres to them!

“No, that’s manipulation.  The Duke is pretty good at it.”  Zoso sounded impressed.

Rumplestiltskin’s anger made him bold.  “I can stop it.”  _I can save_ all _the children._

“Now you’re talking.  But first you need the dagger.  If you don’t have it, the Duke can control you and _make_ you keep the war going.”  Another sneer.  “I’m not sure I’d regret seeing that.  You might be more interesting when you’re raging impotently.  Right now, you’re worthless and boring.”

“I am not _worthless_!”

“Say that like you mean it, and maybe I’ll believe you someday.”

Blinking, Rumplestiltskin glared at his not-predecessor, anger surging within him again.  He had _power_ , now.  He didn’t have to be helpless.  He could do things now, could do fix all the things he’d wanted to fix.  He could give Bae the life he’d always wanted to—

How had he forgotten about his son?  How could he have failed to remember that dawn was approaching, and the soldiers would be coming to take his boy away?  Rumplestiltskin had taken this power on to save Bae, and he would do that.  He _would_ save all the children, no matter what this monster in his head said.  He could be different from Zoso.  For all he knew, this wasn’t the ‘Dark One’; this could just be Zoso coming to haunt him.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t have to listen to him.  He didn’t needto do something terrible or embrace the darkness.  He could just use the power for good.

But first he had to get the dagger, because otherwise someone could _force_ him to be evil.  Nodding firmly to himself, Rumplestiltskin started walking, reveling in the fact that he could walk normally for the first time in years.  It felt so good; he felt so strong!  He felt like he could do anything, go anywhere—except for the fact that he had no idea where he was.

“Figured that out, did you?” Zoso’s voice taunted him from behind, until suddenly the apparition was standing in _front_ of Rumple.  He jumped. 

“I…um…where am I?” He hated the fact that he sounded so pitiful, and added quickly: “Other than at the Vault of the Dark One.  You said that already.”

“Far away from where you were.  Far from the dagger.  Far from your precious boy.”

“How far?”  He could move pretty quickly, now, Rumplestiltskin figured.  He could get there.  Dawn hadn’t broken just yet, and they didn’t ever come for the children until midday.  _Except for the fact that Hordor hates me.  He might come for Bae early._   That thought sent a shiver down his spine, yet for the first time, he felt the fear accompanied by white-hot anger.  _I will kill him if he tries._

“Ah, there it is,” Zoso purred, stepping close until he was mere inches away from Rumplestiltskin.  “There’s the fury.  I like it.  It changes you.”

“How far?” Rumplestiltskin snarled.  He wouldn’t be cowed by this _thing_ ; it wasn’t even real.  And Bae was all alone.

“Weeks.”  There was the smirk again.  “You hear the whispering?”

“The what?” The irrelevant question made him frown.  “I don’t care who’s watching, and I don’t care if they think me mad.  I have to get back to my son!”

“Then focus on the whispering and take yourself to it.”  Dark eyes met his.  “That’s the dagger, calling to you.  _Waiting_ for you.  Take yourself to it.”

Rumplestiltskin narrowed his eyes, looking for the trick.  If the dagger was where he’d left it, it was just up the hill from his hovel, from Bae.  He could get the dagger and then protect Bae.  Then they’d both be free, and no one would ever be able to threaten his son again.  _Then I can stop the war.  I can bring the children home._   The thought of being a hero, of saving all the children, was so sweet that Rumplestiltskin never saw Zoso licking his lips in anticipation.

“How do I do that?” he asked.

“Just think of the hill where you killed Zoso.  Think of it, and—”

But Rumplestiltskin had already focused, and he felt a sudden _tug_ that almost swept him off his feet.  When his vision cleared, he stood over Zoso’s body again, looking down at where the blood-stained dagger sat primly in the grass.  Quickly, Rumplestiltskin bent and picked it up.  The grip felt warm in his hand, now, no longer cold and foreboding like it had when he’d pulled the dagger off the castle’s wall.  Now the dagger was _his_ , and Rumplestiltskin was powerful.  But how had he gotten here?

“Well done.  You just teleported yourself.  Now you’re starting to use your magic.”

Startled, he whirled to face the other Zoso, the one not stiff and cold on the ground.  “You’re—you’re still here.”

“Of course I am.  Your listening skills need some work.  I’ll be here until the end, little man.  Either you embrace the darkness, you become as dark as any Dark One has ever been, or you’ll have me buzzing in your ear until someone kills _you_ and becomes the Dark One.  Then we’ll all encourage that Dark One instead.”  Rotted teeth flashed another dark smile.  “You’re stuck with me.”

“I’m not going to be like you,” Rumplestiltskin whispered.  “I’m going to save the children.”

Zoso threw back his head and laughed.  “Good idea.  Start with your son.  Your friend the soldier is there, now.”

Rumplestiltskin didn’t need coaching this time.  He just focused on his home and vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter 2—“A Frightened Boy,” in which Rumplestiltskin heads home to rescue Baelfire, his not-Zoso in tow.
> 
> I will be taking prompts for this ‘verse, mainly for 1) the time period between the end of the Ogre War and Bae going through the portal and 2) the time period between the portal and Rumplestiltskin meeting Belle. Check out my tumblr (toseehowthestoryends) for sneak peeks and more!


	2. A Frightened Boy

They were at his hovel.  They were taking his _son_.

White-hot rage roared through Rumplestiltskin as he teleported himself to a spot near his home, there to save his son but too late.  The soldiers had already arrived.  He couldn’t stop them.  He was nothing.  There were too many of them.  Rumplestiltskin had always been—

“You’re the Dark One, now,” not-Zoso hissed in his ear.  “Are you going to let them take him away?  Maybe Zoso had it right, and he’s only your bastard.”

“No.  _No!_ ”  The accusation made Rumplestiltskin’s voice shake with rage.  “Baelfire is _my_ son.”

“Great father you are, then.  Letting them take him.”

He  _wouldn’t._   Bae deserved better than to die for the Duke’s power-grabbing war.  Bae was better than his father.  Bae was  _everything_ , and Rumplestiltskin would not let them take him.  Turning away from Zoso with fire roaring in his ears, Rumplestiltskin looked at the closest soldier.  He was holding Hordor’s horse, looking away.  None of them had noticed Rumplestiltskin at all, had they?  Hordor was busy gloating, even.

“Everyone's watching from behind their curtains today.”  The knight looked pleased, but his men had already pulled Baelfire out of the hovel.

“It’ll be easy,” Zoso whispered. “Kill that one.  A flick of dark magic, and he’s dead.”  A soft laugh sounded right in his ear.  “Or you could stab him.  Feel the sweetness of having blood on your hands.  You already stabbed Zoso, today.  Why not stab these cretins, too?”

That sounded… _satisfying._   Before Rumplestiltskin could even think about what he was doing, his feet carried him forward.  Stabbing the first soldier was easy; Rumplestiltskin even remembered where to stab so that he fell soundlessly, crumbling to the ground like a sack of potatoes.  It was so easy and he was so fast—his right leg even supported his weight without pain!  The world around him seemed to be moving in slow motion, and there was so much power at his fingertips that Rumplestiltskin almost felt drunk on it.

Meanwhile, Hordor turned and noticed him.  Instead of raising an alarm over his dead minion, however, the bullyboy knelt.  “Dark One.”

“Ooooh.  That’s a nice way to be greeted, isn’t it?  I bet you can get used to that,” Zoso piped up, but Rumplestiltskin ignored him.

Hordor had made him kneel in front of his son.  Hordor had made him kiss his boot.  Then the bastard had topped it off by trying to take his son away!  Rumplestiltskin _hated_ Hordor like he had never hated anyone else, and he didn’t think.  He just strode forward, certain that he could kill this bastard as easily as the others.  Hordor, however, had seemed to finally notice that he wasn’t Zoso, looking up with confusion on his face.

“No.  Who are you?”

“Have you forgotten me already? What was it you used to call me again?” Rumplestiltskin asked, bolder than he’d ever been before.  He’d learned at a young age to keep his clever tongue in check; even before he’d been the village coward, Rumplestiltskin had learned that uppity peasants received beatings for being wittier than their betters.  “Spindleshanks?”  Grinning, he snapped his fingers.  “Hobblefoot!”

“Papa?” The fear in Bae’s voice almost made him turn away, except for Zoso standing right beside him.  Rumplestiltskin wanted to go to his son, but Bae was all right, and Zoso wouldn’t shut up, and the words _burned_.  Power roared through him as his rage built.

“This one mocked you, didn’t he?”  Zoso  loomed forward, gesturing at the soldier who knelt before Rumplestiltskin.  “And just look at his face.  He remembers, and he _still_ doesn’t fear you.  Make him pay.”

Hordor was wide-eyed, now, and staring.  He was shocked.  Almost speechless.  “Rumplestiltskin.”

“ _Wonderful_.  And now, you shall know me as the _new_ Dark One.”   He pitched his voice a little lower, letting the power shape his tone.  _He can’t hurt me now._ Just thinking like that was a thrill.  _I don’t have to be afraid._   “How about a little… _fealty_?  Kiss my boot.”

“I take back what I said.  You’re not boring at all!”  Zoso rubbed his hands together happily. “I like this.  Where were you hiding the clever mind, little man?”

That nickname only goaded Rumplestiltskin’s temper, as did the fact that Hordor hesitated before finally bending over to kiss his boot.  It was only justice, making the cruel knight do the same thing that he’d once forced Rumplestiltskin to do—and at least _Hordor’s_ son wasn’t watching him.  At least Hordor had choices!

“You know you want revenge,” not-Zoso whispered, and Rumplestiltskin’s hand flashed out, almost on its own.  _He still wants to hurt my son,_ Rumplestiltskin knew.  Quickly, strongly, his fingers fastened on Hordor’s head, and a simple twist of his wrist led to a loud _crack!_   Hordor dropped to the ground, dead as a brick.

Rumplestiltskin felt strange.  He’d just killed again.  How had he managed to do that when he’d only wanted to save his boy?

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Zoso grinned.  “Now kill the others.”

No, it didn’t feel good.  He felt sick.  Felt wrong.  But he was moving, despite the fact that Bae was rushing forward, his shout almost drowning out Zoso’s gloating.

“No, Papa!” his beloved boy shouted, but his feet were already carrying him forward.  The dagger was still warm in his hand, and the darkness roared through him comfortingly, like an old friend that he had never known he was missing. 

One soldier.  Two.  Three and then four.  The others all died easily; Rumplestiltskin was faster than they, and they were terrified.  He was the Dark One, free and powerful.  They could not stand against him, and stabbing each was _easy_. So easy.  _No one will ever threaten us again,_ Rumplestiltskin thought with relief.  He shouldn’t have killed them, though.  Not-Zoso was laughing joyously, his head thrown back and body shaking with giant guffaws, but a strange sense of unease stole through Rumplestiltskin.

“Papa?” Bae asked tentatively, sounding frightened.  “What has happened to you?”

“You’re better now,” Zoso whispered, suddenly by his side and sober again.  “And he’s safe, isn’t he?”

“You’re safe, Bae,” Rumplestiltskin parroted without thinking.  But Bae’s face was still full of fear, and he didn’t like that.  His boy should never have to be afraid.  “Do you feel safe, son?”

He moved forward, only to see his son flinch.  Blood dripped off the dagger’s blade, staining the grass beneath Rumplestiltskin’s feet.

Baelfire had never looked so pale.  “No.  I’m frightened.”

“Ungrateful wretch.”  Zoso snorted, gesturing at the dead bodies.  “You do all these things to make him safe, to make it so neither of you have to be afraid, and he’s still thinking like a lost little peasant boy.”

“I’m not.” For the first time in years, that was true, and not being afraid made Rumplestiltskin feel powerful.  He’d _never_ been able to protect anyone before. “I protected what belongs to me, and I'm not scared of _anything_.”

Zoso bowed, a flourish and old fashioned court-style bow that included a little twirl at the end.  _“Beautiful.”_

* * *

 

Zoso started crooning in glee the moment Bae and Rumplestiltskin walked into their shabby little hovel.  “Ooooh, look at the poor little boy.  He’s frightened!”

“Shut up,” Rumplestiltskin grumbled before he could stop himself.

Baelfire jumped. “Papa?”

“Noth-nothing, Bae.”  Rumplestiltskin made a conscious effort _not_ to glare at not-Zoso—who it was obvious that his son couldn’t see—and to temper his voice into a more normal, more comforting tone.  “I was, er, talking to myself.”

“Are you all right?”

“Smart boy.”  Zoso flopped on Rumplestiltskin’s narrow bed, grimacing distastefully at the worn and patched blankets.  “He knows you’re not the same.  Speaking of being _different_ , you really need to get yourself better accommodations.  No one respects a Dark One who lives like a peasant.”

_But I_ am _a peasant,_ Rumplestiltskin thought, looking around at the small home with new eyes.  Yes, it was worn down.  The roof needed patching over there to the right, but he hadn’t been able to climb up there that summer with his leg aching more than usual, and Bae had been sick—again—when the weather had been nice.  The table in the front was cracked, but when he’d talked to the carpenter about fixing it, the man had shoved him into the dirt and said that it would be more expensive than some coward could afford, no matter what the carpenter’s wife had said about trading a repair for some fine wool shirts for the winter.  Both beds were small, but they were heaped with blankets, now; Rumplestiltskin had stayed up late that spring making new ones, knowing that if they had another hard winter, the old ones wouldn’t last.  Yes, those blankets were a patchwork of old cloth and new, but they were sturdy and warm.  Ugly, but serviceable.

Just like the rest of the hovel.  The walls were thin, but the floor was clean.  Rumplestiltskin prided himself on keeping a _good_ home, even if it was a poor one, and he’d made sure that his son never went hungry, even if that meant he had to go without.  Bae was a healthy boy, for someone of his class: all the peasant children got sick most seasons, mostly due to the poor nutrition available.  Rumplestiltskin was smart enough to teach Bae which plants to scour the woods for when the knights weren’t there to run them off for ‘stealing’ the Duke’s vegetation, and they had always gotten by.  Except…things were different now.  They had to be.

He was the Dark One. 

“Things will never be the same again,” Zoso said, as if he could read his mind.  And maybe he could.  After all, the not-Zoso apparition said that he lived _inside_ Rumplestiltskin’s head.

“Papa?” Bae said again, sounding worried.  “Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course.”  He managed a smile for his boy.  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Sad brown eyes focused on him.  “You killed the Dark One, didn’t you?”

“Why, yes.  I did.”  Rumplestiltskin found that the smile he’d forced felt grotesque and tried to wipe it away, but there was an odd sense of glee building up in him.  _I have power now!  I can keep us safe, warm, and we’ll never be hungry again!_   “We’re safe now.”

“Safe to have someone steal the dagger if you stay in this place.  How can you stand the—?”  Zoso cut off abruptly as Bae touched Rumplestiltskin’s arm, and then, to Rumplestiltskin’s immense relief, disappeared into thin air.

“Are we?” Baelfire asked perceptively, and Rumplestiltskin finally felt himself relax, letting out a long breath.

“Yes,” he said as strongly as he could.  “I’ll show you, Bae.  I have power to protect us, now, and I won’t be like Zoso.  I’ll turn the power to good.”  Now his smile felt real, and he felt like himself.  “Just you wait.  Tomorrow, I’ll go to the front and bring all the children home.”

“Even Morraine?”  Bae’s face showed his excitement; Morraine was his best friend.  The other children sometimes made fun of Baelfire for being a coward’s son, but Morraine never had.  She’d always been kind to both of them, and there were times when Rumple wondered if his son might just marry the girl someday.  Sometimes, he caught Bae staring at Morraine in a decidedly romantic way, and he would be proud to call Morraine his daughter-in-law.

“Especially Morraine,” he promised.  _She’s nothing like Milah.  She’ll be good to my boy._

“Why not today?”

“I…I need to get a better handle on these powers, first,” Rumplestiltskin said honestly.  Talking with Bae was easier when Zoso wasn’t there.  “I—I couldn’t stop myself, earlier.  I don’t know what came over me.  I need to make sure I don’t do that again.”

“I don’t think that power was meant for goodness,” Bae said quietly.  “They wouldn’t call you the Dark One if it was.”

“Well, then we’ll just have to change that, won’t we?” For the first time since killing Zoso, Rumplestiltskin felt hope stirring in his breast.

Bae’s smile was brilliant.  “I believe in you, Papa.”

“You’re the only one who ever has,” he admitted in a whisper, and pulled his son close for a hug.  Bae hugged him back, and Rumplestiltskin _knew_ he could do this.  He didn’t have to be like Zoso.  He had immense power, but he could use it to help people.

He knew he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos for chapter 1! I rarely like to delve into a story that covers ground that canon already has, but there is so much opportunity here that I couldn’t pass it up. So, look for the adventures of Rumplestiltskin and not-Zoso to continue its twisty and nasty way through the past.
> 
> Next up: Chapter 3—“A Brave Girl”, in which Rumplestiltskin ends the Ogre War, brings the children home…and discovers the price that must be paid.


	3. A Brave Girl

“Can’t sleep?”

The voice made Rumplestiltskin jump in the midst of turning over _yet_ again, and he flipped to his right side to see Zoso leering at him.  Immediately, his heart sank.  He’d hoped—oh, damn, he had _hoped_ —that Zoso had left for good when he’d disappeared the night before.  “Go away,” he whispered desperately, trying to keep his voice low enough so that Bae couldn’t hear it.  “Haven’t you done enough damage?”

“Damage?” Zoso laughed.  “ _Damage?_   You little fool, I’m the only help you’re _ever_ going to get.  From here on out, you can trust no one, not even your boy.  He’ll see what you are, and he’ll try to take the dagger from you.”

“No.”  The word tumbled out on its own, and Rumplestiltskin felt fear boiling up, boiling over, making his breath grow short and his heart beat faster.  “No, he wouldn’t.  He’s my _son_.”

“Yes, yes, filial love.  We’ve seen that before.  It _never_ lasts.”

“I’m not like you,” Rumplestiltskin spat.

But then a groggy voice spoke up from the other bed.  “Papa?”  Brown eyes like his own blinked open, and Rumplestiltskin felt his chest grow tight.  “Who’re you talking to?”

“No one, son,” he said as gently as he could, ignoring the desire to use magic to _force_ Bae back to sleep.  He wasn’t like Zoso; he wouldn’t _ever_ turn his power on those he loved.  Quickly, Rumplestiltskin threw his own blankets back and stepped across the narrow room to kiss Bae on the forehead.  “I can’t sleep, but I’ll be right outside, all right?”

“All right.”  Bae was sleepy enough that his eyes slid shut once more; the day had been hard for even the bravest fourteen year old to bear, and Rumplestiltskin just wanted to wrap his son in warmth and keep him safe.  _Forever._

“Watching you destroy him is going to be such a treat,” Zoso commented as Rumplestiltskin fussed over Bae’s blankets, making sure the boy was warm enough before heading for the door.  He paused to glare at Zoso, but the dead Dark One only shrugged.  “You know, I think that’s what it’ll take.  You’re not going to _really_ fall before your boy is gone, are you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hissed, stalking outside.  Being able to walk without his staff was utterly _wonderful,_ though.  Even if the power came at a cost, Rumplestiltskin knew he was smart.  He could figure out how to manage that, couldn’t he?  There had to be a way.  He had _options_ , now.  He’d never had those before.  It was a heady feeling, having choices.  Rumplestiltskin had grown up as a peasant, doing as he was told and going where he was lead.  The last real choice he’d made—prior to stealing the dagger and killing Zoso—had been to shatter his ankle to make it home for his son.

_Foolish Seer.  You didn’t See_ this, _now, did you?_   The desire to giggle reared up; he pushed it down.

“Most of us have _someone_ we care about before becoming the Dark One,” the not-Zoso said, studying Rumplestiltskin contemplatively.  “But loved ones are easy to alienate.  They’re scared away or they’re disgusted, or they just plain can’t live with us.  Either way, they _always_ leave, and it’s usually our fault.  But they can’t stop us from falling.  It always happens.  We all embrace it, sooner or later.  No matter how hard we fight.”

“I’m not going to hurt my son.  And I’m not going to drive him away, either!”  Rumplestiltskin turned to glare coldly at the apparition that he _knew_ lived only inside his head, even if Zoso looked so damn real that it was hard to remember that.

The resulting cackle was disturbingly high-pitched.  “Oh, you will.  We all do.”

“Not me.  I’ll be different.”

Cocking his head, Zoso stepped forward, coming so close that Rumplestiltskin could have felt his breath—if the other had been alive at all.  Still, it took all of the self-control he possessed not to back away, and he still flinched. 

_I don’t have to be afraid of him._ I’m  _the Dark One, now.  I have power.  Not fear._

“We all say that, Little Man,” Zoso replied softly, and Rumplestiltskin shivered.

* * *

 

The next day, Rumplestiltskin headed to the front.  First, Zoso had to show him how to work protective spells around the hovel, which he did as quickly and as efficiently as he could.  Some instinct inside him told Rumplestiltskin that he was doing this all wrong, that he could never, _ever_ manage to keep ahold of his soul if he kept doing things the way Zoso told him, but he had to protect Bae, didn’t he?  Rumplestiltskin had killed soldiers yesterday, which meant that others might come to try to hurt his son.  He wouldn’t let that happen.  He would protect Bae no matter _what_ it cost him, and if he had to delve into darkness to do that, it would be worth the price.

He never noticed Zoso’s smile as a part of his soul chipped away.  _It’s for Bae,_ Rumplestiltskin told himself.  _It’s all for him._

So, he went and played the hero.  Killing the ogres was far easier than he’d expected; for all of Zoso telling him that he could, Rumplestiltskin had never imagined being able to destroy them like this!  He simply strode out beyond the soldiers’ front lines, gathering power—such power!—to himself and _willing_ the ogres into dust.  One by one they collapsed, shattering into thousands of tiny shards of nothingness, whirling around in the winds caused by his magic and vanishing into thin air.  The soldiers, a ragged band of worn-out men and terrified children, watched in awe, and even Rumplestiltskin felt his breath catch.  He had such amazing power at his fingertips.  Who could have ever thought that a weak and broken spinner could do something like this?

“It’s amazing,” he whispered as Zoso grinned next to him.

“Like the feeling, do you?” the old Dark One asked.  “The power.  The ability to reach out with your hand and turn living beings into nothing but dust.  They’re mayflies, you know.  Worthless.  They die in a blink of an eye while you live on.  Kill them all.”

“The ogres?” Rumplestiltskin blinked, looking down at his hands.  The power was extraordinary, yes, but shouldn’t he do something else?  Shouldn’t he _end_ the war, not just kill them all?

“Of course!  They’re one of the few things in this world that are a bigger monster than _you_ are.”

Rumplestiltskin wheeled on Zoso.  “I’m not a monster.  I’m not _going_ to be a monster.”

“Of course you aren’t.”  Zoso rolled his eyes.

“I don’t care what you were.  I won’t do that.”  Purpose surged up within him, _angry_ purpose.  “You kept this war going to benefit the duke.  You _said_ that.  I’ll stop it, and I won’t do that just by killing the ogres.  I’ll make a peace with them.”

Zoso laughed, but Rumplestiltskin did just that.  He walked out to where the second line of the ogres had stepped forward, finding their leader, and he brokered a peace.  It was a peace that would _last_ , too.  One that guaranteed that the Frontlands would no longer attack the ogres—which had started the war, Rumplestiltskin learned from the ogre chieftain.  Zoso confirmed that in a grumble only he could hear, and Rumplestiltskin promised that he would prevent the Duke of the Frontlands from attacking the ogres again, or from using the Dark One to drive them towards his enemies.  The ogres were slow to trust them, as Zoso had been used against them more than once, but they slowly came around to Rumplestiltskin’s point of view.  In less than an hour, he made a peace that would last two hundred years—and would keep the Frontlands safe forever.

The ogres, of course, didn’t like it much.  In fact, their original chieftain threatened to smash Rumplestiltskin flat.

He’d giggled.  Flat out _giggled_ , something he hadn’t done since he was a small boy.  But what did he care what the ogres thought of him?  Once, they had been destined to kill him, but now they were nothing.  A wave of his hand turned _that_ ogre into dust, and Rumplestiltskin turned to the second-in-command as Zoso chortled.

“I do believe you just inherited his job.”  His grin was full of all the sharp edges he’d always worked so hard to bury; now Rumplestiltskin didn’t have to be some shy and humble spinner.  He could be as clever or as sharp as he wanted, and _no one_ could beat him for it.  “Any objections?”

There was much grumbling from between the ogres, but finally the new chieftain rumbled: “No.  We want no sorcerers.”

“Most people don’t.”  Another giggle bubbled up before he could stop it, but part of Rumplestiltskin loved the way it made the ogre flinch.

“They’re not dealing with a sorcerer,” Zoso pointed out from behind his right shoulder.  “They’re dealing with the Dark One, and that’s far worse.”  He paused to sneer at the wary ogres.  “You’re wasting time.  Turn them to dust.”

“Magic flooded our lands,” one of the other ogres said after a moment.  “ _Your_ magic.”

“I’m not my predecessor,” Rumplestiltskin snapped, offended.

“No, you aren’t worthy of kissing his boot.”  Those words made Rumplestiltskin whirl to face Zoso, rage roaring through him.  “Do you know what kinds of things Zoso did before the Duke managed to steal the dagger?  The great and _terrible_ things?  You’re nothing.  You can’t even end a war without my help.”

The Dark One was goading him.  Rumplestiltskin _knew_ that, yet throttling down his fury was so very hard.  He’d always had a temper, but now it felt like that very temper was alive inside him, raging and fighting for release.  And letting it go would feel _so_ good.  All he had to do was—

“No.  I’ll show you.”  He tried to keep the words a murmur, but the ogres still looked at him like he was crazy. 

“Keep telling yourself that.  I just see the cowardly spinner here, looking for a way out that doesn’t include fighting.”

Those words made Rumplestiltskin’s eyes narrow, and his temper howled like a feral monster inside him.  Even the ogres stepped back, those great and terrifying creatures that had haunted his home and his neighbors since Rumplestiltskin had been a young man.  Watching their fear sent a warm surge of satisfaction through him, though, and somehow that was enough to help him turn away from Zoso.  _Not all fear is borne out of killing,_ he realized. 

“What _did_ my predecessor do?” he demanded.  “You said he flooded your lands with magic to drive you out.”  Some of that information had been from not-Zoso, but the ogres nodded, anyway. 

“Our lands are gone.  Can’t go back,” the second ogre volunteered after a moment.

Rumplestiltskin cocked his head.  What the old Dark One had done, the new could undo, and when he started _thinking_ , stretching out, he could feel a barrier there, one that kept the ogres from returning home.  It nipped at their heels like a rapid dog, pressing them forward towards whatever land the Duke of the Frontlands wished to threaten next—usually, whichever kingdom he had decided could pay him the most extortion money.   The ogres didn’t know that, of course, and neither did the unfortunate peasants fighting to fill the Duke’s treasury, but Rumplestiltskin _did._   But that barrier was merely magic.  What magic could make, magic could unmake, right?  That was merely common sense.

“Drop the barrier if you like.”  Zoso shrugged.  “You just might regret it later.”

“Why?”

Apparently, one of the ogres thought that question was directed at them.   “Magic.”

Zoso echoed the word immediately, his grin only growing.  “Magic.  That’s why.”

Rumplestiltskin glared. 

The ogres skittered back a little more.

_I can feel the barrier._ He knew almost nothing about magic, but Rumplestiltskin couldfeel it.  It was almost like he was on top of it, or like he’d worked the magic himself.  And the feeling was just as extraordinary turning the other ogres to ash had been; he felt like he was really _someone_ , like he could move mountains, like he could change the world.  Rumplestiltskin had never felt so confident in his ability to do anything other than spin, and it almost took his breath away.  _I can protect Bae.  With all this power, no one will_ ever _take him from me again.  And I can give him the life he deserves, not this wretched excuse for living I’ve eked out._

“Tear it down,” Zoso encouraged him.  “Rip it to pieces.  Destroy it.”

So Rumplestiltskin did.  He raised his hands and focused into the distance, destroying the barrier that the Duke had once ordered Zoso to erect.  Power thrummed through him joyfully, and Rumplestiltskin felt amazing.

“Go home,” he told the ogres.  “No Duke of the Frontlands will use _this_ Dark One to force you out.  Go home and stay there, and the war will stay over.”

A few ogres seemed to want to argue further, but the others agreed and dragged the dissidents along with them as Rumplestiltskin watched, his heart racing with pride.  _I sent the ogres home.  I did something heroic, something my boy can be proud of!_   But he couldn’t afford much time to watch the ogres trundle away; he had children to save.  At least a thousand of them stood behind their makeshift defenses, their innocent eyes riveted on him and waiting for the terrible Dark One to drag them off to some other war.

_Not me,_ Rumplestiltskin promised himself.  _I will_ never _be like that._ He would never hurt a child, no matter what happened.  He was a parent before anything else, so he strode forward to lead the children off of the battlefield.  It was time for _everyone_ to go home.

“Think you’re so clever, do you?” Zoso snorted.  “Think you can be a hero?”

“I’m going to make my boy proud, no matter _what_ you say.”

“Rumplestiltskin?” a new voice interrupted, and he turned to face Morraine.  Baelfire’s friend was limping, leaning on a staff like he used to, and that made Rumplestiltskin stop cold.

“What happened to you, child?”

She shrugged.  “The battle yesterday.  The healers said I’m lucky I didn’t lose the leg.”

She’d been brave, and she’d fought.  Yet Morraine would still have to live with the same kind of crippling injury he had— _no._ No, Rumplestiltskin was not going to let that happen.  Not to Bae’s friend.  So, he put on his most reassuring smile, well aware of the fact that said smile had already made several children flinch away.  Morraine, however, did not.

“Let me see what I can’t do about that.”  Dropping into a crouch—and being able to do it without pain!—Rumplestiltskin reached a hand out.  He knew that magic could heal.  He hadn’t used it for that before, but surely it would be easy.

“Oh, go ahead,” Zoso snickered.  “She won’t view you differently because you heal her leg, Spindleshanks.  Or do you just want to keep her from being called Hobblefoot?”

Rumplestiltskin barely restrained his scowl.  But the same power that had let him turn the ogres to dust promptly fixed Morraine’s leg, and it _did_ feel wonderful.  So did the way Morraine was beaming at him.

“You healed me!”  Suddenly, Rumplestiltskin’s arms were full of a smiling girl, and he hugged her back awkwardly.

“I only wanted to help,” he said shyly, and she pulled back, grinning.

“Thank you.”

“You’re, uh, you’re welcome.”  Not knowing what else to say, Rumplestiltskin turned to continue leading the children home—but they were close enough to their village by now that most of them were rushing past him, running home to their families.  Even Morraine sprinted off, laughing with delight as she threw her walking staff away, though she at least paused to give him a cheerful wave.  Heart soaring, Rumplestiltskin watched them go.  He _could_ do this.  He could turn this power to good and become a man Baelfire could be proud of.

“There’s a price, you know.”

“What?”  Rumplestiltskin turned to look at Zoso, blinking in confusion.  “What do you  mean, ‘a price’?”

“You weren’t listening when I—well, the _dying_ me, the real one—told you that all magic came at a price, were you?”  Zoso grinned wolfishly.  “The real Zoso tried to warn you, which was by far the kindest act _he’d_ done in decades.  _But you didn’t listen_.”

Not-Zoso sang those last four words out, wiggling gleefully.  Rumplestiltskin could only stare at him in growing horror.

“What—what are you talking about?”

“There’s a price for destroying the ogres, for using your magic to seal the peace.  I should have told you earlier, but…I didn’t.  _Oops._   Don’t worry, though.  You’ll find out later.  Those things always come around.”

* * *

 

“You saved Morraine!  And everyone else!”  Bae practically jumped into his arms, and Rumplestiltskin hugged his son tightly.  Zoso had been being difficult, going on about the _things_ Rumplestiltskin could do to the Duke, but the other Dark One vanished into thin air the moment Bae touched him.

“Yes, I suppose I did.”  Rumplestiltskin couldn’t hold back his smile.  “Your friends are home.  Does that make you happy, Bae?”

“Of course it does!”  His son bounced back in excitement, and suddenly not-Zoso was back, leering with his own sick joy.

“Good.”  Rumplestiltskin’s own smile was so big that it hurt—until his predecessor piped up:

“Oh.  _That’s_ a price.”

He whirled.  “What—what are you talking about?”

“Papa? Who are you talking to?” Bae peered at him worriedly, and Rumplestiltskin shook himself.  Hard.

“No one.  I’m sorry, Bae.  It’s this…this whatever it is.  I suppose I have much to get used to, being the Dark One.”  For a moment, Rumplestiltskin was tempted to tell his son about not-Zoso, but how was he supposed to explain that without Baelfire thinking he was insane?  No, Bae was too young to have to worry about how the collective consciousness of the Dark Ones now lived inside Rumplestiltskin’s head.

Besides, he was sure that once the darkness realized that Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t be like the others, it would go away.  It _had_ to.  And then he would have peace.

“Can’t you just…stop?” his son asked quietly, his brown eyes worried.  Bae had always been perceptive, and Rumplestiltskin was so proud of him for that, but there were times that he wished the boy noticed a little less.

“No.  No, I can’t.”  The words came out quickly, almost painfully fast, and made Rumplestiltskin blink.  “This power, Bae, I’m using it for good.  Just like I said I would.  I can’t let it go.  Not when there’s so much I can do.”

“You can’t _let_ it go, anyway.”  The sneer on Zoso’s face was magnificent.  “You’re the Dark One until you die.  Did you miss that tidbit of information?”

That jerked Rumplestiltskin up short.  Yet part of him had already known.  He’d killed Zoso, hadn’t he?  Zoso had been…controlled by the Duke, too.  If Zoso had been able to put the power down, surely he would have done that instead of being the Duke’s slave.

“Oh, _yes._   You’re discovering the catch now, aren’t you?  The Duke could enslave you as easily as he did Zoso—probably more easily, come to think of it, since you’re such a spineless fool who wants to ‘help’ people.  And you can’t get out of it.  If anyone holds that dagger, you become their slave.”

Rumplestiltskin knew his eyes were wide, knew that Bae was staring at him, but he couldn’t help himself.  The idea of being controlled, being forced to hurt others the way Zoso had been, was enough to make his stomach heave wildly.  He couldn’t.  He _wouldn’t_.  Instinctively, his eyes found his son.  Bae was the world to him, but the world would use Bae against him, wouldn’t it?

“Even he’ll try to enslave you.”  Zoso almost sounded bored.  “Just you wait.”

“No.”

“Papa?”  A hand landed on his arm, and again, the Dark One disintegrated.  “Why can’t you let it go?  You saved everyone already.  That’s what you wanted to do, isn’t it?”

“I…I can’t let go of the power, Bae.  Not without dying.”  He could think more clearly now that Zoso was gone.  Bae would _never_ seek to control him.  Rumplestiltskin knew that.  “This…this is what I am, now.  I am the Dark One.”

“I thought killing him just gave you his power,” Bae whispered.

“I did, too,” Rumplestiltskin admitted.  _And I thought they called him ‘the Dark One’ simply out of fear.  Not because of that…toxic darkness.  That voice._ “But I think there were a lot of things we didn’t know, son.”

“It’s okay.”  Bae smiled bravely.  “We can do this together.  Just like we do everything.”

“Yes.  Yes, we can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My NaNo-ing muse has been a bit fickle lately, so I’ve written a lot more of this story that I expected. Chapter 4 is done, so if there’s interest, I can get it up by the end of the week. Also—I am still taking prompts for this story, now for any time after Rumplestiltskin lost Bae. 
> 
> Next up: Chapter 4—“A Foolish Noble”, in which Rumplestiltskin deals with the Duke of the Frontlands, begins discovering how easy it is to manipulate people, and then meets the Blue Fairy for the first time.


	4. A Foolish Noble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: “Will he go back and take revenge on the Duke (I think you dealt with this in another story and I would suspect that Rumple would do so, just as a warning to others who would try to enslave the Dark One).” (Twyla Mercedes)
> 
> “And I’d like to see more butting heads with the Blue Fairy. You write Shady!Blue so damn well! I have no doubt she’d want to go do recon work on the new Dark One pretty dang quick after he took it on. From his reaction in canon, I don’t think the portal was Rumple’s first experience with Blue at all.” (Lokifenokee)

The Duke’s men arrived the next day, just when Rumplestiltskin was figuring out how to use his magic to improve their hovel.  He didn’t see the harm in doing that; the power practically bubbled up under his skin, begging for release, and using magic to make their home better was infinitely preferable to _stealing_ things like Zoso wanted him to.  He wouldn’t make his neighbors suffer, even if Zoso had spent the entire night complaining about the couple next door.  Granted, the blacksmith and his wife were fighting again, but that was nothing new.  Bae slept through it easily enough, and Rumplestiltskin would have, too.  Assuming he _could_ sleep, which he no longer seemed able to do.

Zoso had only smiled and told him he should use the time to contemplate what evil deeds he would do next, and Rumplestiltskin had almost shouted at him.  He’d barely stopped himself because Bae was sleeping.

“Stay inside, Bae.”  They’d just finished breakfast and started discussing improvements when Rumplestiltskin had heard the hoof beats—or maybe he had felt them.  It was very hard to tell with Zoso nattering on.

“What is it, Papa?”

“ _What is it, Papa?_ ” Zoso repeated the words mockingly.  “Does he ever shut up?”

“I’ll go find out,” Rumplestiltskin told his son, rushing outside their still-lacking hovel.

“Decorate the walls with their blood,” Zoso suggested a dozen soldiers approached, all on horseback.  “That would liven the place up.”

“Shut up.”

“Not going to happen, little man.  Not until you accept what you are and embrace the darkness _fully_.”

He turned to glare, already knowing that Zoso would be wearing that familiar and condescending smile.  “I won’t be like you.”

“Sure you won’t.”

Rumplestiltskin shifted his attention to the soldiers.  They were led by Sir Brock, he realized with a sinking feeling.  That certainly explained why shutters on nearby houses were slamming shut and doors were being barred; Sir Brock was the captain of the duke’s guard, probably the most feared man in the Frontlands after the Dark One.  _But I am the Dark One, now,_ Rumplestiltskin told himself firmly, trying to check the instinctive need to scurry inside and hide like everyone else.  He wasn’t the town coward any longer.  He had power.  He could stand up to these soldiers.   He could turn them to dust, just like he had the ogres.

“Oooh, good idea.  I like it when you’re aggressive.”  Zoso studied the lead soldier as he approached.  “Still, you might want to hear what they have to say first.  Might be important.”

“You are the new Dark One?” Sir Brock demanded, not even bothering to get off of his horse.

“And what if I am?” Rumplestiltskin was curious to see how they would reply.

“The Duke de— _requests_ your presence.”  Brock corrected himself quickly, but Rumplestiltskin was quite intelligent enough to figure out what the knight had almost said, and his eyes narrowed.

“Does he, now?” A giggle escaped, mostly out of nervousness.  Rumplestiltskin was so far out of his depth that he felt like he was drowning.  The Duke wanted to see _him_?  He was nothing!  He was a peasant, and not even one who was—

“You’re the _Dark One_ , little man.  Time to start acting like it,” Zoso spat.  “Kill the messenger.  Teach the Duke of the Frontlands a long overdue lesson about daring to control a Dark One.”

“The Duke is your sovereign lord.”  Brock sounded offended on the duke’s behalf.  “You owe him your allegiance!  You—”

“Wait a moment,” Rumplestiltskin’s growing anger gave him the courage to cut in, even though the knight’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he did so.  Yet Brock’s mouth snapped shut, and wasn’t _that_ satisfying?  “Are you telling me that your precious little duke, who is _so_ important and courageous that he sends _children_ to fight his wars, is someone I should bend the knee to?”

_He would have sent Bae to his death._

Brock had gone rather red in the face.  “You are the Dark One.  The Duke _owns_ you.”

“Well, he will if you don’t do something about it.”  Zoso folded his arms, clearly waiting.  Rumplestiltskin just felt his stomach churning. 

He could imagine how it would feel to be controlled.  They’d take his son away.  They’d force him to start the war again.  Every bit of good he’d done would be _un_ done, and Rumplestiltskin would be remembered as a coward and a monster.  Those thoughts made his hands shake, but they made his feet start moving, too, rage and power singing within him.  He wouldn’t stand for that.  He was going to turn this power to good, not use it to serve a corrupted and greedy duke!

Without thinking, he sprang to Sir Brock’s side, dragging him off of the chestnut gelding the knight sat so proudly on.  Rumplestiltskin’s left hand seized the knight by the front of the tunic while his right reached inside his own cloak, drawing the dagger out. 

“Kill him,” Zoso whispered, and it seemed like a good idea.  Killing Brock would send a message, and Rumplestiltskin _needed_ a message. 

The dagger sliced up, neatly slitting Brock’s throat from right to left.  Blood bubbled up immediately, splashing on Rumplestiltskin’s clothes and almost getting in his eyes.  He managed not to flinch—it was hard to shy away from anything with the darkness in him singing like this—but who could blame him for making such a mess?  He wasn’t used to what happened when you cut someone’s throat, although Rumplestiltskin made a mental note to turn his victim away from himself the next time.  In fact, he did that now, twisting the dying knight around as blood continued to trickle out of the wound and Brock made desperate noises, his hands flailing uselessly.  Rumplestiltskin ignored him, however, and just waited until the other knights got a good view of their dying captain.

Then he dropped the body, watching eight of the eleven survivors flinch.

“Kill them _all_ ,” Zoso whispered, and the anger within Rumplestiltskin bubbled up gleefully, wanting him to do so.  But he had a better idea.

“You.”  Rumplestiltskin didn’t shout; he simply pointed the bloody dagger at Sir Brock’s lieutenant.  That was Sir Felton, and Rumplestiltskin remembered receiving a beating at that man’s orders when he’d tried to sell his thread at the main market near the castle.   Sir Felton’s eyes went wide.

“Me?”  Listening to a knight’s voice shake was gratifying.  _I am no longer helpless._

“Well, did you think I was talking to someone else, dearie?” he asked, stepping away from Brock’s now-dead body and raising his eyebrows curiously.  “I could be.  But I’d have to kill you, first.”

“Oh, please do.”  Zoso was the one giggling, now.  He seemed to be salivating at the idea of more death, but Rumplestiltskin wanted the duke to feel the pain of defeat more than he wanted to kill the man.  _Send my son off to a pointless war to die, would you?_ he seethed.  Yes, Felton would have done it, too.  He’d have taken Bae.

That thought was almost enough to make him kill the knight, but Felton was smart enough to speak up.  “What do you—do you want from me?”

“I want you to go tell our _splendid_ Duke that he’ll _never_ own me,” Rumplestiltskin snarled, gesturing with the dagger for emphasis.  Blood flew off the blade and splattered onto Fenton’s horse, making the gray dance away from the Dark One warily.  But Rumplestiltskin smiled.  “And you can tell him that I know what he did.  How he kept the war going to line his pockets.  The ogres are gone.  That ends _now._ ”

The knight all but babbled his acquiescence, and Rumplestiltskin watched the eleven survivors ride off with a smile on his face.  He’d killed a man, but surely a bully like Brock had deserved to die.  The stories of the young girls Brock had ‘persuaded’ into his bed were many, as were the bruises said girls came home with.  If they came home at all.  No, killing Brock was a public service, just like ruining the duke’s ambitions would be.

“You should have killed them.  Keep on like this, and you’ll wind up as a slave.  You _need_ to kill the duke.”

Rumplestiltskin turned to study not-Zoso.  “Why would I do that when I can ruin him instead?”

Narrowed eyes met his.  “What do you mean ‘ruin’?”

“Show me how to use magic to take myself to the kingdoms he was extorting, and I’ll show you.”  Not bouncing with excitement was hard.  His idea was _smart_ , and Rumplestiltskin knew it.  He could turn this to good—he could turn the selfish rulers against one another instead of against the peasantry.  It would be nice to make the nobles bleed, for once.  Not his neighbors, who were even now peeking out of their homes, cautious and more than a little terrified. 

They’d get used to him.  It was only a matter of time.  He was _better_ like this, and he’d protect them.

Rumplestiltskin started on that quest by telling the rulers of the three neighboring kingdoms (the Frontlands formed an independent duchy, a sovereign nation that wasn’t quite big enough or important enough to be called a kingdom, but it was situated between two larger kingdoms and shared a border with a third.  East lay the lands of the ogres and other fell creatures, but the duke had been sending those creatures elsewhere for years.  Once the _other_ kingdoms knew about that, they’d be certain to turn on the duke and stop paying him for ‘protection’.  Rumplestiltskin might have been a peasant, but by the time he was done talking to one prince and two different kings, he learned that royals operated with the same self-interest as any other human being.  

So, he told them about the duke’s schemes, and then promptly told the duke’s younger brother that the others knew, too.  After that, Rumplestiltskin was able to sit back and watch the chaos form, with three kingdoms threatening to go to war with the Frontlands (a war he knew that he’d already prevented) and the duke scrambling to assemble a new army.  But Rumplestiltskin foiled those attempts, gleefully turning knights away from the peasantry they sought to exploit.  Soon enough, young Lord Roderick got the point, and as soon as he was done murdering his brother—and his nephew, just to be safe—he became Duke Roderick of the Frontlands.  And the threat of war vanished like the late and unlamented duke had.

It was Rumplestiltskin’s first lesson in manipulation, and although Zoso spent a good amount of time grumbling that he should just _kill them all_ instead of toying with them, the muttered insults grew fewer.  The Dark One started watching Rumplestiltskin with interest, and when several wagonloads of gifts arrived from neighboring kingdoms, Zoso smiled, too.  The biggest wagon, of course, came from the new Duke Roderick, and Rumplestiltskin found himself giggling with glee.

Being the Dark One was _nice_.

* * *

 

Two days after the old duke died, a sparkly blue bug showed up.

Rumplestiltskin had _heard_ of fairies before, of course.  He even knew the name of this one: Reul Ghorm.  He’d certainly called it often enough, in his days as a broken-down and cowardly spinner, begging the most powerful of fairies to send someone, _anyone_ , to help his son.  When Bae had been ill last winter, he had beseeched her to come, offering anything and everything he had if only she would come heal his son.  Two thieves had stolen most of his wares in the market just as winter took a turn for the worst, and the pittance he could scrape together had only stretched far enough to buy half-rotten food.  They had both gotten sick, but Bae had already been ailing, and the boy had nearly died.  Good food and a warmer home would have staved off the worst of it, but Rumple had barely been able to provide anything for him.

He had begged and he had pleaded, shouting her name into the dark and cold night a hundred times, but Reul Ghorm had never come.  Until now.

“Rumplestiltskin,” the fairy said, her voice light but serious sounding.  She floated a few feet away from him, her wings flapping rhythmically.  And she was sparkling.

She looked so _good_ and so pure, and that made Rumplestiltskin sick.

“If you’re here to help me, dearie, you’re far too late,” he snapped, returning to the protection spells he’d been putting on the outside of their (newly larger) home while Bae slept.  He had to do something while his boy was sleeping, and keeping Bae safe meant everything to him.

“I fear I am,” she replied solemnly, just as Zoso snorted:

“Typical.  Doesn’t just looking at that sparkly blue dress just make you sick?  And there is _no_ way that someone who is pure and good at heart shows that much cleavage.”

Not laughing at Zoso’s remark was hard, so he shifted the giggle that wanted to rise into anger.  “Then what do you _want_?”

“To warn you against the darkness.  I know you have led a hard life, and I know that the power is seductive—”

“Don’t patronize me!”

The fairy blinked.  “I did not seek to.  I only want to help you.  I know that you want to keep your son safe.  If you were to hand over the dagger, I could make sure that—”

“That someone _worthy_ enslaved me?” Rumplestiltskin cut her off again.  He didn’t need Zoso to tell him what would happen if he ever contemplated giving the dagger to the Blue Fairy; he could read that right off of her pompous little face.  “I don’t think so.”

“Your son will always be in danger so long as you are the Dark One.”  Her expression was mulish.  “Even _you_ know that.”

“My son was in danger before I became the Dark One.  He would have _died_ if I hadn’t taken this power on, and now I can _protect_ him.  Even from you.”

“You could kill her, you know,” Zoso mused.  “Probably.  I think the dagger would do the trick.  You should try.”

But even Rumplestiltskin, new to these powers as he was, knew that would be a bad idea.  So, he tried to ignore Zoso, even when the other Dark One added:

“You could use it like a spit, roast her over an open fire.  She’s too small to bother eating, but it could be funny.”

“I am no danger to your son, Rumplestiltskin.  _You_ are the danger.”  Blue folded her hands primly for a moment, but he wasn’t fooled. “I only want to help him, just as you do.”

“If you wanted to help him, you would have come before,” he spat.  “Or were we not _important_ enough to notice, then?  After all, he was just a sick and starving peasant boy, and you had royalty to look out for.  You don’t care about anyone, dearie.  Don’t play the role of ‘goodness’ with me.  I know what you are.”

“You think you do, but you don’t.”  Somehow, she managed to look mournful.  “I do want to help you, and I wish I had before.”

Rumplestiltskin and Zoso snorted together.

“You cannot defeat this darkness,” she tried next.  “No matter what you think, it _will_ rule you, and the good man you were will be lost.”

“I saved people you wouldn’t!  You sat in your high clouds and watched children die.  Remind me again.  Which one of us is the monster, here?  I keep forgetting.” Rumplestiltskin felt his lips curl up in a sneer, but the fairy only shrugged.

“I tried to warn you.  I won’t try again.”  Blue didn’t say it, but he could hear the rest, anyway: _You’ve never been important enough for a fairy to help, and I only want to use your son against you._

“I don’t want your help,” he snarled, and watched her fly away with no small amount of satisfaction.

“She’s right, you know,” Zoso said as the fairy moved higher into the sky.  “You can’t win.”

“The hell I can’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Chapter 5—“A Dangerous Secret,” in which Baelfire says too much to a friend and Rumplestiltskin tries to fix a mistake with disastrous consequences.


	5. A Dangerous Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I’d like to see more Morraine, beyond just the Ogre War. She seemed genuninely unintimidated by Rumple. And her interactions with Bae have the potential to be adorable. More, please!” (Lokifenokee)
> 
> Warnings for violence and death in this chapter.

_Prompt: “I’d like to see more Morraine, beyond just the Ogre War.  She seemed genuninely unintimidated by Rumple.  And her interactions with Bae have the potential to be adorable.  More, please!” (Lokifenokee)_

People kept bringing him gifts.  His neighbors were still afraid of him—which might have come from the fact that he’d turned a knight who tried to kill him into a newt—but they’d get over that in time.  It was the nobles, however, who were most interesting.  Nobles, knights, and merchants came by the village to try to try to earn his favor with presents of all sorts: fine cloth, jewels, beautifully crafted furniture, and even books.  Rumplestiltskin knew how to read, and he’d taught Bae all he could, but having books was a luxury he had never dreamt of affording.  Now they had a small shelf full of them, and Rumplestiltskin often delighted in running his fingers along their spines when no one was looking.  His ‘aunts’, the spinsters who had raised him, had been thought dreadfully unconventional for teaching their orphaned ward to read and write, but now he was able to expand the vocabulary they’d taught him.  He spent many nights reading, trying to ignore Zoso’s prattling with varying degrees of success. 

The books were certainly the best gifts, but the gold and jewels were a close second.  Rumplestiltskin had used magic to expand the interior of their hovel into a proper house, but now he had money to furnish it with whatever he wanted.  Rumplestiltskin had _never_ held so much money in his hands, and counting out what he had was a heady feeling.

“Pitiful,” Zoso scoffed as Rumplestiltskin sat at the table, his strongbox open and money arranged in careful piles.

“What?”

“That’s a pittance.  Nothing.  You could have so much _more_ if only you would listen to me.”  The old Dark One gestured at the now-luxurious interior of Rumplestiltskin’s home.  “You could live in a castle instead of this rat trap.”

“It’s not a rat trap!”

Zoso snorted.  “If you say so.”  The sneer on his face, however, said that he definitely didn’t agree with Rumplestiltskin’s assessment.  “You’re still living like a peasant.”

“This is my home.  Bae’s friends are here.  I can’t take him away from that.”  Besides, where would they go?  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t been outside of Hamelin since the age of seven, unless one counted his disastrous term of enlistment during the early days of the Ogre War.  Before that, of course, his father had bounced from town to town, swindling those he could—but Rumplestiltskin didn’t like to think of those days.  Not at all.  Having a home was so much better than that.

“No, you won’t leave because you’re weak.  Because you’re _frightened._ ”  Zoso stepped forward to loom over him, and Rumplestiltskin flinched despite his best efforts not to. “Deep down, you’re still a coward.  Always will be.”

“I’m—”

“Worthless.  You didn’t even _kill_ the duke.  Instead, you got others to do your dirty work for you because you didn’t want to get your hands dirty.”

That hadn’t been the reason at all, but Rumplestiltskin was clever enough not to protest aloud.  He was starting to realize the depth of this darkness he’d allowed to anchor in his soul, and the very toxicity of the… _presence_ inside him was terrifying.  He wanted the power, but not at the price Zoso kept insisting upon, which meant he had to be clever.  _I can be smarter than him,_ he thought.  _Whatever the real Dark One inside me is—whatever “Zoso’s” visage is hiding—I can outsmart this thing, and I can turn it to good._

Unfortunately, Zoso lived inside his head as much as outside it, and those thoughts made him burst out laughing.

“Do you really think you can _clever_ your way out of this, little man?”

Rumplestiltskin shot to his feet, feeling anger surge within him despite his best efforts to push it down.  “What I think is my business.”

“Not anymore.  Now _I_ live inside you, and your soul is _mine_ , Rumplestiltskin.  You want the power, you pay the price.  And since you’ve already got it, you’re never going to stop paying.”

Voices floated in from outside the front door before Rumplestiltskin could respond, making him—and the Dark One only he could see—spin around.  Thankfully, it was just Bae and Morraine, whose friendship had only deepened, despite everything that had happened.  Still, once he heard Bae talking about him, Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help inching closer.

“He’s different.”  Bae sounded glum.  “He’s trying not to be, but his face gets stranger every day.  And he’s meaner.  The lord who came yesterday offered a fortune for the dagger, but Papa turned him into a snail.  And then he kept the gold.”

“Are you sure the lord didn’t do something else?  Your papa was nice to all of us when he came to the front.  He even healed my leg.”

“He didn’t.”  Feet scuffed, then a muffled _thump_ reverberated through the wall; it sounded like Bae had kicked the front of the house in frustration.  “Then papa _stepped_ on him.  He killed him, Morraine.  He didn’t think I saw it, but I did.”

“I don’t think anyone’s going to miss another lord,” Morraine pointed out, and Rumplestiltskin could have hugged the girl.  “They’re never any good to us normal folk.”

“But he’s _killing_ them.  He was never like that before!  I mean, I know he wants the dagger to be a secret, but can’t he just erase their memories or something?”

“What dagger?” Morraine asked curiously, just as Zoso materialized right in Rumplestiltskin’s face, his expression fearsome and furious.

“You have to kill her.  Don’t let _anyone_ know about the dagger. Bad enough you told your stupid boy.”

Aghast, Rumplestiltskin drew back.  “I can’t—”

“You have to.  _Kill her!_ ”

“No!”

“Do you want to be someone’s slave?” Zoso loomed closer, his eyes wild and dangerous.  Rumplestiltskin flinched.

“No, of course not, but—but she’s Bae’s friend.  His best friend.  I can’t hurt her,” he hissed, feeling cold.  So cold.  Yet terror warred with his sense of outrage.  If Morraine knew about the dagger, if she _told_ someone about it…

_“Kill her._ ”  Zoso’s breath was hot on his face, but how could a figment of Rumplestiltskin’s imagination have breath to breathe?

Outside, Bae was trying to avoid Morraine’s questions.  “Oh, it’s nothing.  Just something Papa got from the Duke.  I think it’s expensive or something.”

“If you say so.”  Morraine sounded like she didn’t believe Bae, but she let it drop. 

_Thank goodness._

“You still can’t let her live,” Zoso said as Bae and his friend came inside, suddenly all smiles.

“I asked Morraine’s mother if she could come for dinner.  Is that all right, Papa?”

Terror churned in his gut; allow Morraine to be in the same house as the dagger?  He would have to be a fool!  But how could he say no when his son was so happy?

“Of course it is.”  Rumplestiltskin made himself smile in return.  Zoso just whispered in his ear.

_“Kill her.”_

* * *

 

Dinner was pleasant, at least when Rumplestiltskin could ignore Zoso’s constant attempts to find something poisonous in the house.  Rumplestiltskin kept his hands firmly on the cooking implements he wanted to use, however, barely keeping them from reaching for the small bowl of a suspiciously black powder that had magically shown up.  He had a terrible feeling that _he’d_ summoned whatever poisonous thing that was, and it took all of the control Rumplestiltskin had to not grab it.  He hadn’t really minded killing the lord over the dagger, but if he put that in the food, _Bae_ would eat it, too.  Love for his son turned out to be a strong enough emotion to beat some of the darkness back, though, and they got through the meal without poison.

Tomorrow, he’d get a maid.  From somewhere.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t trust himself to cook again.

Morraine bid them a cheerful goodbye as Zoso leaned over his shoulder yet again.  “Do it.  Protect the dagger.  Kill her.”

_I can’t!_   Yet Rumplestiltskin found his lips moving, found himself reaching desperately for Bae’s arm, just needing the contact with his son to make Zoso _shut up._    Bae gave him a strange look, but the words tumbled out, anyway:

“I, uh, need to go check on something I left outside.  I’ll be right back.”

Bae shrugged.  “All right.  I’m going to draw.”  A shy smile touched his lips.  “Maybe something for Morraine.  Do you think she’d like that, Papa?”

“I—I think she would,” he stuttered distractedly.  Part of him, the part that was still a father before the Dark One, felt a warm flush of love for his son.  Bae was beginning to have romantic feelings for Morraine, and Morraine was a good girl.  She’d make his boy happy, and unlike everyone else in the village, she didn’t seem to fear Rumplestiltskin. 

“If she doesn’t fear you, she’ll try to control you.”  Zoso was waiting when he stepped outside into the cool night air, his arms crossed and glowering fiercely.

“I can’t hurt her,” Rumplestiltskin whispered. “My son loves her.  Or will, someday.”

“Coward.”

He flinched.  “It’s not that I’m afraid—it’s just, I can’t hurt my boy.  I _can’t_.  He’s all I have.  He’s all that keeps me from being like you.”

“You _are_ like me, little man.  Or did you forget how _good_ it felt to crush that snail under your boot yesterday?”

Rumplestiltskin grimaced.  It had felt good.  In fact, killing that obnoxious little lordling had felt _wonderful._   People like that had stepped on Rumplestiltskin his entire life, and he finally got the chance to crush them instead!  Like Morraine had said, no peasant would miss a self-important ass of a noble.  They were _all_ used to being stepped on, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t have to let that happen, now.  He had power, and now the nobles got to cower.

“I’m not hurting her.”  Inspiration struck, just like Bae had said.  “Can’t I just…erase her memory?”

Zoso’s eyes narrowed.  “Perhaps.  But there’s a price to pay.”

“I’ll pay it.”

Now the Dark One smiled.  “Then you’d best catch up with her before she gets home.  Think of her house, imagine it in your mind, and stop her before she gets there.”

Rumplestiltskin did as he was told, and was left utterly breathless by the way magic swept him straight off of his feet and teleported him to where he needed to be.  The power he could wield was amazing—if only he could have it without this nagging voice inside him!  He _wanted_ to be a good man, wanted to turn it to good, but how was he supposed to do that with all this darkness?  And...much as he hated to admit it, the darkness felt _good_.

“Morraine.”  He spoke her name as soon as he saw her; Morraine was in the shadows between homes, walking quickly and confidently.

She jumped.  “Rumplestiltskin.  I didn’t see you.”

“That’s the idea.”  He giggled, hating the nervous sound—and hating the way it made Morraine wary.  She was going to be his daughter-in-law someday, probably.  He needed to be kind to her.  Couldn’t he just…knock her unconscious or something?

“Nope.  She has to be awake so you can pull the memories out.  It’s not like you know how to make a potion to do it properly.  You _could_ try to go to the Forbidden Fountain, of course, but it’s in Oz and you wouldn’t know how to make that work, either.  Not a dullard like you.”  Zoso’s sneer was impressive, and Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard.

“Is there something you wanted?” Morraine wasn’t moving away from him yet, but he could tell that she wanted to.

“Yes, uh, a word.  If you would.  Over here.”  Rumplestiltskin gestured to his right, towards one of the houses that had been abandoned after the young man who’d lived there died in the wars.  There was talk about another family moving in, but now that Rumplestiltskin was the Dark One, no one wanted to live that close to him unless they already did. 

“All right,” she said slowly, but she walked with him trustingly enough. 

Rumplestiltskin felt guiltier with every step, and Zoso didn’t help.

“You have to dig the memories out.  Grab her head, and go fishing.”  Rotted teeth flashed in the dim evening light.  “You’ll know what you want.  But try to keep her from screaming.”

“From—?” He barely managed to stop himself from saying more, but Morraine’s head snapped around.

“Are you all right?”

The innocence in her expression was too much for him.  _I can’t hurt her.  I can’t._

“Do it,” Zoso hissed, and Rumplestiltskin’s hands started moving.  Time seemed to slow down, and he watched in horror as his hands snaked out to grab Morraine by the head, his left palm slapping down to cover her mouth while the left fastened on the back of her skull.  “Go on.  Go fishing.”

Power filled his hands, and Rumplestiltskin could _feel_ the memories after a moment.  Shaking and feeling sick, he drew them out—because he _had_ to, didn’t he?  He couldn’t let Morraine know about the dagger, but he didn’t want to kill her.  He couldn’t hurt Bae like that!  Even when Morraine squirmed in his grasp, muffled cries coming against his hand, he felt the power fill him and Rumplestiltskin grabbed ahold of the memories.  It was better than killing her.  She wouldn’t remember this, and he’d make sure that Bae never said anything about the dagger again.  She’d be all right.  She was hurting now, but she’d forget the pain.  He _should_ have killed her, so she should be grateful.

Finally, Morraine went limp in his hands, and Rumplestiltskin had to catch her to make sure she didn’t fall.  She wasn’t quite unconscious, but there was a glazed look in her eyes that said she had no idea what was going on.

His hands were bloody, and so was her head.  Rumplestiltskin looked down at his palms in horror, but Zoso only cackled.  “Oops.  That’s a price.”

“But I…”  Shaking himself, Rumplestiltskin reached a hand out and healed the wound on Morraine’s head.  She barely even flinched, just staring at the ground blankly.  A small whimper passed her lips, but Morraine still said nothing.  She just stood there, swaying slightly.

Had he taken too much?

“No way to know.  Digging for memories is messy.”  Zoso shrugged.  “You’ll find out, I suppose.”

“Go home, Morraine,” Rumplestiltskin told the girl harshly.  “ _Forget_.”  The word had enough magic in it to make a lasting impact, and Morraine lurched away.

“What have you _done_?” A new voice interjected as Morraine disappeared around the side of the empty house, and Rumplestiltskin jumped.

Widow Lorna stood staring at him, her eyes wide and horrified.  Once, a lifetime ago, she’d come to try to help the village coward, telling him that his wife had been kidnaped by pirates. Now, however, she was certainly not _helping._ She looked ready to run away, ready to scream for help.

“Nothing,” he snapped.   “You saw nothing.”

Zoso snorted.  “She saw everything.”

“What did you do to that poor girl?  You monster!” Lorna started to turn away, but Rumplestiltskin knew he couldn’t let that happen, and he teleported himself into her path.

She jumped; Zoso snickered.  “You know what you have to do.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Rumplestiltskin said hurriedly.  “She hit her head.  I healed her.  That’s all.”

“You grabbed her and hurt her!”

“I didn’t—” Except he had, and they both knew it.  Lorna tried to dodge around him, but Rumplestiltskin grabbed her by the arm.  _I can’t let her tell people.  I can’t let Bae find out._

“Don’t want your boy to know what a monster you are?” Zoso taunted him.  “Rip her heart out.  It’s the only way.”

“What?” Rumplestiltskin gaped, and Lorna looked at him like he was mad.

“Do it!”

Again, his hand moved like it was possessed, plunging into Lorna’s chest.  They both watched in horror as his hand emerged again, a bright red and glowing heart grasped firmly in his fingers.  It was _beating_.  This was Lorna’s heart—and the woman in question was gasping and shaking, so panicked that it lent her strength and she jerked away from him.

“Stop!” Rumplestiltskin cried desperately, and she did.  She stopped cold, frozen in place.

“When you rip a heart out, it becomes enchanted.”  Zoso was right on top of him again, and Rumplestiltskin flinched away from his satisfied tone.  “But when you squeeze it, you’ll hurt her.  Squeeze it.”

Rumplestiltskin did; Lorna cried out in pain.

Zoso sighed happily.  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Rumplestiltskin whispered.  It was beautiful and horrible and he had so much _power_. He held a woman’s heart in his hands, and she had obeyed him when he’d told her to stop.  Almost as if she had no choice at all.  He’d never seen anything like this, and it was extraordinary.  He almost felt drunk, lightheaded and so _free_.  No one could stop him.   Not when he could do things like this!

“Crush it.  Just squeeze a little harder.”  Zoso leaned even closer.  “You know you want to see what happens.”

What was the harm?  Lorna was an old woman, with no family.  No one would really miss her.  She was the town gossip, anyway, always nattering on about someone else’s business.  She was a nuisance, really.  The village would be a better place without her.  No one would mind.  Besides, he wanted to know.  Instinct told him what would happen, but Rumplestiltskin wanted to see.  He was almost giddy with the power, because who else could rip hearts out with no effort at all?  There hadn’t even been any blood!  This was extraordinary.

His hand closed, and Lorna dropped to the ground silently, her limbs crumbling out from under her like all their bones were gone.  A moment later, Rumplestiltskin found himself brushing the dust away from his palms as Zoso grinned.  He hardly noticed the Dark One’s glee, though.  He was looking at Lorna’s dead body too curiously.  That had been so easy.  Bloodless, even.  And how would anyone know how she had died?  This was perfect—the entire town would assume that the old woman had just collapsed in the street late at night.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t even have to find a way to dispose of the body.

Shrugging, he headed home to his son, confident that he’d kept the girl Bae was sweet on safe, and that his secrets were safe, too.

* * *

 

The village buzzed about Lorna’s death the next morning, but even Bae didn’t seem suspicious.  He was too excited to take his new drawing to Morraine—Rumplestiltskin had bought him some colored pastels a few days earlier, and this was the first piece of art Bae had finished.  Just as Rumplestiltskin suspected, everyone assumed that Lorna had died of old age.  No one even looked strangely in his direction—or at least not any more strangely than they did these days.  And he preferred the wary looks to the ones he’d gotten before, to the looks of barely concealed contempt, and (very infrequently) pity.

It was nice to be feared.

Bae headed over to see Morraine an hour after breakfast, practically dancing out of their home with his drawing in hand.  But he returned far sooner than Rumplestiltskin expected, bursting back into the house, his face lined with worry.

“Papa, can you come to Morraine’s?  She hit her head on the way home last night, and she doesn’t remember most of the last week.”  Bae’s hand landed on his shoulder just as Zoso started to laugh, and Rumplestiltskin started as the other Dark One disappeared.

“I, uh, of course I can.  But I might not be able to help her, Bae,” he stuttered, groping for the right words.  _I can’t let him know.  I can’t let her remember_!

But he hadn’t meant to erase so much.  What if he’d taken something precious?

“Thanks, Papa.”  Bae’s glowing smile made him feel sick with guilt, but what else could he do?  Rumplestiltskin followed his son across the village, and soon enough, he found himself looking down at Morraine, who was in bed, looking a little blank and very confused.

Morraine’s mother hovered nervously, but gave him a genuine smile. “Thank you for coming, Rumplestiltskin.”

“It’s, uh, no problem at all.”  He cleared his throat.  “I’m glad to help.”

Zoso just laughed.

Slowly, Rumplestiltskin lowered himself onto the stool next to the bed.  “Do you remember anything, child?”

“Good question.”  Zoso nodded approvingly.  “You need to make sure, after all.”

Morraine grimaced.  “I don’t remember anything.  I just remember my head hurting.”  Her voice turned small.  “It still hurts.”

“Well, I can at least fix that.”  He tried to sound reassuring, but the words wanted to stick guilty in his throat.  Raising his hand, Rumplestiltskin summoned power, and for once, Zoso didn’t argue.

And, well, if he eliminated any tiny fragments of memory while he mitigated the pain, that was just the smart thing to do.  He couldn’t let Morraine remember, but he didn’t need her to be hurting, either.  Zoso’s approving smile was a little disturbing, however, and ignoring him was hard.  Particularly when Rumplestiltskin solemnly told Morraine’s family that he couldn’t return her memories to her—which wasn’t a lie, as he didn’t know how—but a day or so of rest should make everything else all right.

When Bae thanked him, he felt positively horrible.

And powerful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it’s been a long time! I’m sorry for not coming back to this fic for so long—I’ve been distracted by quite a few other stories. Next up: Chapter 6—“A Useful Hobby,” in which Rumplestiltskin discovers that spinning soothes his soul, and Pan shows up.


	6. A Useful Hobby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “What does the spinning do for him (is it just a hobby to pass eternity or does it make Dark One shut up?)  Can we see what happens the first time he spins gold? Does he wet himself or what?  (Twyla Mercedes)”

Not sleeping was strange.  Bae slumbered much more peacefully now that he had a better bed; his son had even admitted that to him, a little shyly, the previous morning.  Just looking in on his boy while Bae slept on a _real_ mattress made Rumplestiltskin fill with a flush of pride.  He’d never been able to give Baelfire things like that before, little luxuries that made their lives so much better.  Zoso complained that they still lived like peasants, but so far as Rumplestiltskin and Bae were concerned, they now lived like royalty.  Real mattresses, thick blankets that Rumplestiltskin hadn’t had to make (even if Bae insisted on keeping the old ones, too, which touched Rumplestiltskin deeply), and fluffy pillows were things neither of them had ever had.  Even growing up with his aunts, who had been reasonably well off for spinsters, Rumplestiltskin had not been so fortunate to sleep on a thick mattress filled with feather instead of prickly straw. Now, however, they even had under-mattresses full of wool, which kept the feather mattresses from being too soft!

Zoso seemed to take those luxuries for granted, but Rumplestiltskin would never cease to be pleased with the fact that he could now provide such things for his son. The mattresses hadn’t arrived as gifts, of course, but the merchant selling them (and the new beds) had come to their door, and the money Rumplestiltskin received had paid for them, as well as a thousand other things.  Better food.  Better clothing—no longer would he and Bae have to wear clothing made of the castoff thread Rumplestiltskin could not sell!  Now they could _buy_ clothing, even though Bae complained good naturedly that the tunics his father used to make him had fit better.  Their house was less drafty, too; Rumplestiltskin hadn’t just used magic to expand it.  He’d filled the annoying cracks and fixed the roof, finally patching the persistently leaky spot in the corner that had filled the hovel with water during every bad rain storm.   And they had windows, now!  _Real_ windows, ones with sturdy shudders with actual glass inside.

He spent much of each evening admiring his home.  It was one of his favorite ways to pass the hours while Bae slept, although the longer they lived with such luxury, the more boring that pastime became.  Rumplestiltskin had thought he would never tire of fingering the real dishes he’d bought, or looking at the thick blankets on their beds.  He even enjoyed lying in his own bed, even if he didn’t need sleep, but even that was growing old.

And Zoso would not _shut up_.

“You need to think bigger,” the old Dark One pestered him.  “You’re really quite pathetic, living in this small town surrounded by your neighbors.  Now that you’ve started embracing the darkness—”

“I haven’t!” Rumplestiltskin protested in a hiss.  He wanted to shout at his predecessor, but that would wake Bae in the next room.  _In the next room._   For the first time in his life, Bae had a room of his own, and Rumplestiltskin knew his son liked that.  Most peasant children spent their lives in the same one or two room (at best) hovel as their parents, only acquiring some privacy when they married and left to scrap out an existence of their own.  “I’ve only done what I had to to keep my son safe!”

“Sure you have,” Zoso laughed.  “Well, he’s safe enough.  Unless he finds out that you wiped his friend’s memories and murdered an old gossip.  Not that the old bat didn’t deserve to go, but your boy _does_ seem to dislike murder.”

“He won’t find out.”  Bae’s reaction to Rumplestiltskin turning a tinkerer into a snail earlier that day had been disappointing.  How could Bae not know that his father was just trying to protect him?  If he let someone hurt his son, where would it stop?

“Of course not.  Now, as I was saying—”

“Shut up.”

Zoso threw back his head and cackled.  “You can’t shut me up, spinner.  I’m inside your head.”

“I _said shut up!”_ The words burst out of him with so much force and emotion that magic shook the room wildly.

“Papa?” a sleepy voice called from the room next door, and Rumplestiltskin shot to his feet, glaring at not-Zoso.  This was his fault.  Now Bae was awake, his sleep was disturbed, and it was all because the darkness inside him wanted Rumplestiltskin to do something ‘bigger’.  Zoso had been on about it for days, saying that Rumplestiltskin should just kill the duke and set himself up as the new ruler of the frontlands, or take a castle from someone, at least, so that Zoso didn’t have to exist in this squalor.

“It’s—it’s nothing, Bae.  I’m sorry.  I was just talking to myself,” he called, stepping out in to the main room and looking around frantically for something to do.  He needed something to distract him!

“Is everything all right?”

Bless his son’s good heart; Rumplestiltskin knew he would never be as good as his boy.  Smiling softly, he stuck his head into Bae’s room.  “Everything’s fine, son.  Go back to bed.”

“Love you.”  Bae’s sleepy smile was hard to see in the darkness, but it warmed Rumplestiltskin’s heart.

“I love you, too, Bae.”

He slipped away again, back into the main room.  He had to find something to do if he was going to shut Zoso up.  _Anything._   The power was nice, but having this incessantly nagging voice in his head was really starting to wear on him.  Particularly since Zoso wasn’t just an annoying voice—he was a force, a _power_ , that seemed able to overcome Rumplestiltskin even when the still-moral parts of Rumplestiltskin screamed in horror about what he had just done.  _Don’t think about it,_ he told himself firmly, trying to push away the memory of his magic digging into Morraine’s mind as she tried to scream in pain.  _You can’t change what you’ve done.  Just forget about it._

It was probably a good thing he couldn’t sleep, though, because if he had been able to, nightmares of Morraine’s wide eyes would have plagued him forever.  She had trusted him, but Rumplestiltskin had been left with no choice!  If Bae hadn’t mentioned the dagger in front of her, Rumplestiltskin would never have had to wipe her memory.

Quickly, convulsively, Rumplestiltskin reached inside his tunic to make sure the dagger was safe.  Once his fingers touched the hilt, his heartrate calmed down, and he was able to let out a shaky breath.  Rumplestiltskin had learned, just a few days earlier, that he could actually peer into his predecessors’ memories.  Zoso had shown him a few moments of how it had felt to be _controlled_ , and the images had left Rumplestiltskin on his knees and gasping.  He would _not_ be a Dark One who was controlled.  He would not put Bae in that kind of danger.

“It happens to us all, eventually,” Zoso said, leaning idly against the wall.

He glared.  “Not me.”

“Oh, you’ll follow the path.  They all do.”  This laugh wasn’t so much Zoso’s as it was the darkness’; Rumplestiltskin had learned to tell the two apart.  The laughter was higher-pitched, more of a giggle.  _Rather like what I’ve started doing_.  He pushed that thought aside as Zoso gestured back towards Bae’s room, where Rumple’s boy was snoring softly.  “It’ll start with him.  Either someone will take him and trade him for the dagger, or someday the _good_ son will decide his father is too dark to trust, and he’ll control you.”

“Not my boy,” Rumplestiltskin growled.  “He won’t.  You don’t know him.”

“Of course I do, little man!  I live in your head.”

He paced away from Zoso, striding like a caged animal in the small confines of his home.  “No, you don’t.  And it doesn’t matter.  I’ll be the first to _never_ be controlled.”  Rumplestiltskin glanced at Zoso, or technically, _not_ -Zoso, his eyes narrowing.  “I’m smarter than the rest of you lot, anyway.”

“Well, that’s one thing the darkness can’t create, anyway.”  Zoso shrugged.  “But if you have so much native intelligence, why are you wasting it here?”

“This isn’t a waste!”

“ _Sure_ it isn’t.  You’re living like a peasant—a peasant with delusions of grandeur, no less!—and accepting tribute from petty knights and lords when you could have _kings_ at your feet.”  Zoso snorted.  “You’ve even kept this ratty old spinning wheel because _it was a gift from your aunts_.”  An eye roll.  “Burn it.”

A fireball appeared in Rumplestiltskin’s hand before he could blink, but he managed to extinguish it.  “No!”

“Oh, why not?  Are you that afraid to step away from who you were?  Come on.  Make something useful of yourself.  Stop being that helpless little spinner.”

“I’m not helpless,” he snarled.

Still glaring at Zoso, he strode forward to make sure the wheel was all right.  Yes, it was old, but it had always been the best repaired and best cared for item in Rumplestiltskin’s home.  His aunts _had_ given it to him when he’d moved out on his own; one of them had been too old to spin anymore, and she’d wanted him to have her wheel.  It had been Rumplestiltskin’s main source of income ever since he’d been fourteen and talented enough to make a living.  He’d been a weaver, too, since his aunts had sent him to apprentice in another town for a year, but spinning had been his first love.

Now, as he ran his hands over the wheel, feeling the familiar wood underneath his palms, he felt almost like the young man who had once dreamt of spinning for kings and queens.  The wheel felt good, felt so familiar.  The wheel creaked slightly as he let it move under his fingers, and that old sound calmed something in his mind.  Smiling—a natural smile, and not the hard-edged and wicked one he usually wore these days—Rumplestiltskin sat down on his stool, marveling at how _normal_ the motions felt.  He hadn’t spun since becoming the Dark One, because why would he have to?  His spinning days were over.

He’d told Milah that, once.  Told her that he’d come back from war a hero.  Instead, he’d come back for his boy, only to find that his wife hated him.  _She still deserved better than to become those pirates’ plaything._   If he’d had this power, then, Rumplestiltskin would have been able to save her.  And then Milah wouldn’t have thought he was coward.  Milah would have _loved_ being the Dark One’s wife.

The suspicious sting of tears prickled at the corners of his vision, and Rumplestiltskin shook them away.  Milah was gone.  It was done.  He’d failed to save her, but he wouldn’t fail to save their boy.  Bae was all he had left.

“Coward,” Zoso whispered, leaning in so closely that Rumplestiltskin felt his breath on his face.

“Leave me alone.”

A leering grin made Rumplestiltskin turn his head away.  “Make me.”

His hands started moving over the wheel on their own, the practiced motions coming with no effort at all.  Rumplestiltskin had always been able to lose himself while spinning; maybe he could just ignore Zoso that way.  Spinning had always been his peace, his solitude.  He could forget Milah yelling at him, could forget her telling him how worthless and cowardly he was, and about how she wished he had just died.  When he’d been younger, he’d used it to forget the way his father had looked at him and said that _a child can’t have a child_ , and let go of his hand.  He’d used it to forget the bullies who beaten him to the ground on his way back from the market, stealing the money he’d earned to take care of his family—or how he’d found Milah drinking and laughing with those same three men the next night, her ale in hand while they told her how they’d put her cowardly husband in his place.

Spinning had always made him forget that he as worthless.  Maybe spinning could block the voices out, too—because Zoso was strangely silent as Rumplestiltskin let his mind drift into nothingness, focusing on the wheel.  The creak became steady as he worked the foot pedal.  Wool slid under his still-calloused fingers easily.  His skin might be changing, slowly turning to a strangely golden-green scaly color, but the callouses were still there.  His fingers knew their roles; Rumplestiltskin did not need to direct them.  He could close his eyes, and did, and the wool would spin to thread.  This had once been his life, but he didn’t need the money, now.  Maybe he could simply spin because he loved to. 

That would be nice.

The silence stretched onwards, broken only by the rhythmic creaking of the wheel, and Rumplestiltskin simply _listened,_ letting the familiar sounds fill his mind.  Even Zoso, if he was still there, had gone quiet.  A quick peek showed that the previous Dark One continued to lurk nearby, watching Rumplestiltskin spin curiously, but saying nothing.  A small smile touched his face, and Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes again, just spinning and spinning and _spinning_ , letting the peace wash over him.  Now he wasn’t thinking about hurting Morraine, about murdering Lorna or that tinkerer whose name he’d never bothered to learn.  He didn’t feel guilty, not for giving the butcher a pig’s tail or for turning the blacksmith into a horse until Bae begged him to turn the man back.  He hadn’t told his son about the way that same blacksmith had tried to re-break Rumplestiltskin’s ankle once, angry because the blacksmith had lost an eye and two sons in the war and Rumplestiltskin had made it home.  He’d just listened to Bae’s pleas and turned him back—and later, he’d stopped by the blacksmith’s home to tell him that if his remaining son didn’t stop pestering Morraine, Rumplestiltskin would shut them both in the blacksmiths’ forge and let them burn to death.

None of the guilt—or the sick pleasure—from those events mattered, now.  Rumplestiltskin could merely spin, could feel the wool moving under his fingers and try to cling to some portions of his soul.  Zoso told him repeatedly that it would just be easier if he let go, that he could certainly protect his son better if he gave himself utterly to the darkness.  But Rumplestiltskin didn’t trust the darkness to protect Bae, so he held out.  _For my boy._

The wool ran out, and Rumplestiltskin opened his eyes.  He had more in the cupboard, so he bent to open the cabinet door, only for something gold and glittery to catch his eye.  Cocking his head, Rumplestiltskin shifted to look at what had filled the basket at his feet—and then fell off of his stool in shock.

“What is that?” he asked Zoso breathlessly, scrambling back in his surprise.

Zoso blinked, jerking out of whatever reverie he’d been in.  “What is what?”

Later, Rumplestiltskin would remember that this was the first time that the darkness hadn’t had a ready answer for him.  Now, however, he simply shot forward to investigate the basket full of thread.  _Golden_ thread.  Quickly, Rumplestiltskin reached out to touch the thread—after all, nothing could hurt him, now—and realized that it wasn’t simply gold in color.  No, that thread was _gold_.

“What did you do?” he demanded.

“I didn’t do anything.”  The old Dark One lurched forward to look over Rumplestiltskin’s shoulder.  “You spun gold.”

“I—I _what_?”

Fortunately, Bae snored onwards, because those words had definitely been a yelp.

Zoso shrugged.  “Apparently you have an unforeseen talent, spinner.”

Rumplestiltskin could only stare.

* * *

 

A few weeks later, however, that peace was shattered by ‘Peter Pan’ showing up and trying to steal his son.  Later, Rumplestiltskin would realize what a mistake he’d made that night, teleporting his son away without bothering to ask Bae what he wanted or what he thought, but at the time—faced with his father in front of him and Zoso whispering about how Pan wanted _this_ boy but not him—Rumplestiltskin had rushed them both away from Pan as quickly as he could.  Baelfire, of course, was furious, and jerked away from his father as soon as they were home.

“Don't touch me! Get away!”

“Oh, look at that,” Zoso piped up immediately from behind Bae’s right shoulder.  “He’s _angry_ with you!”

“It's all right now, Bae,” Rumplestiltskin tried to reassure his son.  “You're safe.”

“Safe? I was never in danger. The Piper was my friend!”

Rumplestiltskin blinked, shaken to his core.  There was no way that Bae felt like that.  He _couldn’t_.  And yet he knew his— _no, Pan!_ —Pan was tricky.  Taking a deep breath, Rumplestiltskin tried to speak levelly.  Reasonably.  While ignoring Zoso’s malicious leer.  “He may have wanted you to think that. But you have to believe me. He would've hurt you.”

Turning away, Rumplestiltskin tried to contain his memories, tried to push them back.  He wasn’t a helpless little boy any longer, screaming for his father not to let him go.  He’d _never_ let his son go, not like that.  He wasn’t his father.  He’d never abandon his child, not for _anything_.  Unfortunately, Bae followed him.

“Why? Who is he?” His son demanded furiously.  “Another person that you abused with your power?”

Immediately, Zoso was next to Rumplestiltskin whispering gleefully in his ear.  “Oh, yes, tell him the truth!  Tell him how ‘Pan’ abused you!  He’ll never believe you.”

 _He won’t,_ Rumplestiltskin realized with despair.  Bae wouldn’t believe him.  Bae was too angry and too convinced that Rumplestiltskin as the villain here.  So, he would have to tell Bae as much as he could—while leaving his own role out of the story.  Perhaps he could tell Bae that later, when Bae might trust him. 

“He won’t trust you. You’re the Dark One.  No one will ever trust you again.”

 “His name is Peter Pan,” Rumplestiltskin explained, surprised how easily twisting the truth came as he turned back to face his son.  “I've known him since I was a boy. Growing up, we were incredibly close.”

Bae looked broken.  “So you're saying he's immortal, too.”

 _At a price._   But he couldn’t think like that. He couldn’t show how badly this hurt.  _Why would he want Bae and not me?_

“He wasn't always.”  Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard, and refused to watch Zoso grin.  “He went to a place called Neverland.  He betrayed me, Bae.  He can't be trusted.”

“What happened?”

Rumpelstiltskin almost told him.  His mouth was open to do so, to spill the truth, until Zoso leaned forward and whispered: “He’ll believe it.  He’ll believe you.  And he’ll see how worthless you’ve been, ever since the beginning.”  Now the old Dark One wasn’t even grinning, but his eyes were boring into Rumplestiltskin.  “And he’ll leave you because everyone does.  Because that’s what your good at: being abandoned.”

“All that matters is that he fooled me for a long time before I'd finally seen his true nature, and it is darker and more repulsive than you should ever be exposed to!”  He had to protect his son.  Particularly from _him._

Zoso snorted.  “Oh, that’s rich, coming from you.  You’re a chip right off of the ol’ block, aren’t you, little man?”

“He can't be any worse than you.”  Bae turned away bitterly, and Rumplestiltskin felt his heart break.

“I had to protect you, Bae.  I didn't have a choice.”  He couldn’t tell Bae the whole truth about Pan, but he could surely find some way to make his son understand.  Pan was a monster.  No matter what bad things Rumplestiltskin had done—all to protect his son!—Pan would always be worse.  _He never loved me.  Loving a child means you protect them._

“Oooh, here we go,” Zoso whispered.  “Here it starts.  He’s starting to hate you, just like they all do.

And that _was_ anger on Bae’s face as he spun around to glare at his father, Zoso suddenly behind his shoulder once more. “Stop _lying_ because I know that you did!”  Bae strode forward furiously, Zoso right behind him.  “I know about the deal Pan offered you.  He said all you had to do was ask me if I wanted to come home.”

“He told you?” Rumplestiltskin’s breath caught in his throat; the word came out as a broken whisper.  He’d never thought that even Pan would do that to him.  Not even Pan.  _He wants to steal my son away.  Why would he want my son when he didn’t want me?_

“Because your son is stronger than you are, of course,” Zoso answered the unasked question.  “He’s got guts.  You’re still just a coward, and even your _father_ can see that.”

Rumplestiltskin flinched, but Bae’s next words really drove the blow home:

“He said that way I'd know if you really trusted me, if you really cared.”

“Oh, please, Bae.”  He was watching his bond with his son disintegrate before his eyes, and every time Rumplestiltskin tried to make things better, he only made things worse.  Rumplestiltskin reached for his son, only for Bae to pull away.

“You didn't need to. I would've chosen to come home. I would've chosen _you_!”  Bae looked as broken as Rumplestiltskin felt.  _Tell him,_ a part of Rumplestiltskin whispered, the part that had always been honest with his son.  _Tell him now before it’s too late._   But he couldn’t.  He could only stare stupidly as Bae continued:  “If only you asked.  Maybe we could've found a way to be a family again.”

“It’s done,” Zoso proclaimed with an exaggerated shrug.  “There it goes.  That family you always wanted.  It’s over, because you weren’t _strong_ enough to hold it together.”

“We can be.”  He started forward, but Bae pulled away.  Rumplestiltskin followed, but his son rushed out the door.  “Bae. _Bae!_ ”

He reached for the doorknob, only to find Zoso leaning against the door, his arms crossed.

“Best to let him go,” the old Dark One said.  “He’ll run away, and you’ll be better off.  So might he.”

“I’m _not_ abandoning my son!”

Zoso snorted. “You will.  There’s a price to be paid, you know.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Rumplestiltskin demanded, but Zoso only smiled.

“You’ll see, little man.  Soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it’s back! After a (too long) hiatus, the story of Rumplestiltskin’s early days as the Dark One returns.
> 
> Up next: Chapter 7—“An Abandoned Son”, in which a certain fairy hands over a magic bean, and Rumplestiltskin’s world falls apart.


	7. An Abandoned Son

“Papa, if I find a way for you to get rid of the power… A way that doesn’t kill you or hurt me, would you do it?”

Rumplestiltskin looked up from serving the stew.  He knew that he was getting worse—at least in Bae’s eyes—but things between himself and his son had been getting better.  He was trying, trying _so_ very hard, to be the kind of father Bae wanted.  Yes, he’d killed the tinkerer with the donkey cart, and he’d very nearly scared his own son off when he hadn’t told him about the deal Pan had offered.  But Bae had come back, only to ask him why he couldn’t put the power down.  _Put it down? Put it down and be…_ nothing _again?_ The very thought was terrifying, and yet Rumplestiltskin knew what his son wanted more than anything.

_I promised myself once that I’d put him first.  No matter what._   Rumplestiltskin opened his mouth to speak, but then Zoso leaned in, looming over Bae’s shoulder. 

“You can’t put it down, you know.  This is your life, and the ungrateful brat should get used to it.  Aren’t you always telling him how much _better_ life is now?” the previous Dark One snarled.  “Beat some sense into him, why don’t you?”

“It’s not possible.”  Rumplestiltskin had never raised a hand to his son and never would, even if he _couldn’t_ get rid of the power.  And he knew that he couldn’t.

“If it was, would you do it?” Bae pressed, looking hopeful for the first time in months. 

Knowing that he had so rarely put that expression on his son’s face—despite all the possessions they’d gained or the comfortable life they now led—broke Rumplestiltskin’s heart.  So, he ignored Zoso’s snarled protest, and said: “Are you really that unhappy, Bae? I conjure anything you desire. Name it. What do you want?”

“I want my father.”

Those simple words cut him to the core.  How many times had Rumplestiltskin said that to his aunts as a child?  _I want my father._   They’d had to tell him that his papa was never coming back, that his papa didn’t want him.  _I want my father._   Seven years old, he had whispered that in the dark, mouthing the words over and over again, crying silently so that no one would hear.  _I want my father_.  Bae was the only person in the world who had ever _wanted_ Rumplestiltskin, who had ever loved the worthless man he had been.  And now Bae wanted him to go back to who he had been before all of this.

_“I want my father,”_ Zoso sing-songed the words out mockingly.  “What idiot you spawned.  He has his father, and you’re the best he’s going to get!”  A sneer.  “Pitiful though you both are.  I hope someone puts that dagger through your heart and kills you.  Or that someone takes it and forces you to kill _him_.”

For once, the aggressive words didn’t turn Rumplestiltskin towards darkness; instead, he focused on his son’s face, seeing no lies there.  Baelfire just wanted his father back…even if it was impossible.

“All I want is your happiness, Bae,” he whispered.  “If you find a way, I’ll do it.”

Bae’s face lit up even as Zoso started to rant: “You can’t do it.  Didn’t you tell him you wouldn’t make promises you couldn’t keep?  You’re the _Dark One_ , little man, and you’ve already let us in.  You’ve got no choice, and you should just erase his memories of the time before this and be done with it.  It’s the only way you’ll ever get to—”

“Good,” Bae said, and the word nearly drowned out Zoso’s offended tirade.  Then Bae abruptly offered his hand to Rumplestiltskin, who seized the opportunity to take his son’s hand and make the old Dark One disappear.  Touching Bae made him feel lighter.  More human.  His son smiled.  “The deal is struck.”

The chances Bae could find anything would be slim, but Rumplestiltskin would do it if he did.  He loved Bae more than anything, even more than the power that he _knew_ he needed to protect his son.  But the power was worthless if he lost Bae. _He_ was worthless if he lost Bae.

“Struck,” he echoed, and braced himself to ignore Zoso when the other Dark One re-appeared the moment he let go of Bae’s hand.

Interestingly enough, he did not.

* * *

 

The next day, Baelfire told Rumplestiltskin of a land without magic, and of the fairy he’d spoken to who promised them a way there.  Rumplestiltskin had been shocked that Zoso didn’t intrude in that conversation, but his own fears had been hard enough to overcome.  Zoso had once told him that he’d vanish if Rumplestiltskin completely embraced being the Dark One—had he done that?  Was it already too late for him, like Bae seemed to think?  Bae said he was getting worse and worse every day, but Rumplestiltskin didn’t _feel_ worse. 

Did he?

He had killed their maid, Onora.  _Even a mute can draw a picture,_ he had said without thinking.  Had Zoso even been there to whisper those words in his ears?  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure.  Everything was getting _easier._   So easy.  He’d killed Onora with the dagger—it had seemed fitting, since she’d seen the weapon—without so much as hesitating.  Just like he’d killed others, or harmed others.  The raging darkness inside him always seemed to ease when he hurt someone, as if an unending thirst for vengeance had been temporarily quenched.  Usually, Zoso was there to egg him on, to laugh and exalt, and then to tell Rumplestiltskin that he was thinking ‘too small’.  By now, Rumplestiltskin had the litany down pat.  But where had Zoso gone?

Not having to listen to him was marvelous, but what did that mean?  Had he gone too far? Was he already the monster that Bae feared he would become?  His son meant _everything_ to him, and Rumplestiltskin had made him a promise.  He’d made a deal to strip himself of these dark powers if he could…and maybe it was just in time.  As terrifying as the idea of a land with no magic sounded, perhaps then he could be the father his son wanted.  _I want my father,_ Bae had said to him.  _Like everyone else. It wouldn’t matter. We’d be happy._

“I’m going,” whispered in the emptiness of their hovel, staring down at the dagger in his hands.  Bae had gone to say goodbye to Morraine, leaving Rumplestiltskin alone to prepare himself.  His voice shook.  “I’m not going to do to my son what was done to me.”

Resolutely, he put the dagger down on the table.  It still bore his name, but he could walk away from all of this, couldn’t he?  It was what Bae wanted, and Rumplestiltskin had long since promised himself that he would put his son first.  _All I want is his happiness._   Nodding to himself, Rumplestiltskin turned his back on the dagger, wrapping his cloak around himself and heading for the door.

“Don’t leave the dagger behind,” a voice whispered from behind him, and Rumplestiltskin whirled around to face a beautifully carved mask of gold.  As he stared, a shadowy hand came up to remove the mask, revealing an equally lovely woman’s face—or a face that _would_ have been beautiful, had it not been corrupted and scaled like his own.  She stepped closer to the table, running the fingers of her free hand gracefully over the blade.  “You never know who might pick it up.”

“Who—who are you?”

_Protect the dagger!_ Those words were the mantra every Dark One lived by, and Rumplestiltskin lunged for his blade.  Fortunately, the woman did not move to take it, instead watching him with a sly smile.

“I am you,” she replied.  “I am all of us.”

He clutched the dagger to his chest protectively.  “Us?”

“The Dark One.”  She stepped close to him, and oddly enough, she smelled of sweet flowers.  “You have only met Zoso so far—or what is left of him—but I thought it time to make an appearance.  You are making a terrible mistake, Rumplestiltskin.”

Her voice was soft and seductive, and ever so reasonable.  It came from inside him as much as outside, and Rumplestiltskin shook his head desperately, trying to clear it.  The sheer _power_ of this woman was overwhelming; trying to resist her made him shake.  “No,” he whispered. “I’m doing what is right for my son.”

“For the son who can’t accept you for who you are?” She cocked her head, leaning back against the table so that there was a foot or so of space between them.  “For the son who turns away from you because there is a little anger in your heart?”

“He’s my son!”

“A son whom you would have already lost, if not for this.”  She reached out to touch the dagger, and he jerked it away, stumbling back from her.  She chuckled softly.  “A son you cannot protect without power.  What will you be in that new land?  A lame spinner without even a wheel to his name?  You will be nothing.”

“Who are you?”  Getting the words out past the lump in his throat was hard; Rumplestiltskin felt like he was made of frigid stone.  Part of him knew the answer, but logic told him that it was impossible.   Zoso had said that he was one of many, and Rumplestiltskin sometimes thought he felt the pressure of other souls in the back of his mind, but she couldn’t be—

“Nimue.”  Her voice was a whisper, but her smile was fire.  “I began this.”

“You…you were the first Dark One.”  Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard and took another step back.  This woman—or dead _thing_ inside his head—was more unsettling than Zoso.  Zoso laughed and mocked him.  It felt like her claws were digging into his very soul.

“I always appreciate it when you use that brain of yours,” Nimue replied, beckoning him forward.  Rumplestiltskin resisted, pain building up inside his skull, but after a moment, his feet shuffled towards her on their own.  “Don’t stop doing so now,” she whispered, reaching out to stroke his face.  “You were doing so well.  You are so much _better_ like this.  You’re not weak and worthless at all—you’re a power to be reckoned with.”

“Papa?” Bae’s voice drifted in right before his boy burst through the door.  “Are you ready to go?”

“Are you?” Nimue purred, her voice right in his ear, right inside his soul.

“Are you?” Rumplestiltskin echoed without meaning to.

“Of course I am, Papa.”  Bae gave him a look that said he wasn’t going to put up with any hesitations or excuses from his father.  “It’s night.  No one will see us.  We should go now.”

“I—I half expected you to bring Morraine.”  Rumplestiltskin knew that Bae was more than half in love with the girl, and he wouldn’t have been surprised to find that Bae wanted to make their association more permanent.

“She can’t.  Her parents are watching too closely, and besides, the butcher’s son wants to court her.  He’s a good match, and she’ll be happy.”  The smile on his son’s face was a little forced, until Bae reached for his hand.  “I want to go with you, even if it means leaving her.”

“Clever boy,” Nimue whispered before disappearing.  _Don’t trust clever boys._   Those last words only rang in his mind—were they hers, or were they his?

Rumplestiltskin’s heart, however, soared at this evidence of his son’s love.  _I don’t deserve it,_ he thought brokenly, _but I’m going with him.  We’ll make a fresh start._   He nodded as firmly as he could.  “And I want to go with you, Bae.  I’m ready.”

Baelfire beamed, and they walked out of the hovel together for the last time.

* * *

 

As they walked through the woods, his resolve began to weaken.  Was this really the smart choice?  _You are making a terrible mistake, Rumplestiltskin._ He was better like this, wasn’t he?  He wasn’t lamed, no one called him coward, and he could protect his son.  _Bae should be happy that I’m like this. Why won’t he love me anymore?_  With an effort, Rumplestiltskin shoved those thoughts aside.  His son loved him.  He knew it.

“Not the way you are now.”  Nimue was keeping pace with him, walking stride for stride with Rumplestiltskin as he followed Baelfire.  “He loves the weak man you were, because he knows that father would be easy to rule.  But not as you are now.   Now he has to listen, and what boy wants that?  No, he wants you to be _nothing_.”

“Shut up!” He hissed the words aloud without meaning to. 

“What was that?” Bae was a half dozen feet ahead of him, and called the question over his shoulder as he slowed to let Rumplestiltskin catch up.

“Where are we going?” Rumplestiltskin asked instead of repeating himself.  “What kind of world is this we’re going to? What kind of world is without magic?”  _Will_ she _still come along, or will I be free?_

His son had never mentioned how they were going to get to the other world; Rumplestiltskin had imagined a doorway, or something like that.  But, instead of stopping at a doorway, Bae simply looked around the clearing they were in, and opened his hand.  In his palm glowed a magic bean, and every one of Rumplestiltskin’s childhood nightmares returned.

_“This bean... can open a portal, take you far away from this land.”_   He had once been sold a lie about a new life, a better one. 

“A better one,” Bae replied, and Rumplestiltskin’s memories tumbled back through the years.

“What if there was someplace we could start over? Somewhere where no one knew you?” Suddenly, Nimue was there, right next to him, whispering the words he had once said to his father as a young Rumplestiltskin held a magic bean in _his_ hand.  Her eyes burned into his, and he shivered as she parroted his father’s response:  “Where we can be a _family_.  A real fresh start.”  Nimue snorted.  “Sound familiar?”

Bae threw the bean at the ground while he was distracted, and a whirling vortex of power opened at their feet.  Wind whipped around them, but all Rumplestiltskin could see was his own father leading him through a similar portal, taking him to Neverland, and then sending him away. 

“If you’d never gone through that portal, you would never have lost your father,” Nimue pointed out.  “Shall history repeat itself?  Shall you drop into that tornado and never see your son again?”

“Oh my gods, boy. It’s like a tornado.”  The shaky words slipped out as Rumplestiltskin stumbled back a step.

“We have to go through!”

“You’ll lose everything if you do,” Nimue whispered.  “Just like you did before.  Only now you’ll be a powerless cripple, too.  And your boy will grow up without you, because you’ll be unable to protect him.  You’ll die and abandon him, just like your father abandoned you.  Can you do that?”

Rumplestiltskin shook his head wildly.  “No, no. I don’t think I can!” 

“We must,” Bae cried over the howling wind, grabbing his arm and trying to drag him forward.  Rumplestiltskin kept staring at the vortex, his eyes wide and terrified.  It was happening again.  All of it was happening again.  “It’s the only way!”

“The only way to what?” Nimue had moved away from him, and now she was standing just to the side, gesturing at the portal.  “The only way to lose your son?  Because it certainly is that.”

“No, no, no, no, no.  It’s a trick.  It’ll tear us apart!”  He knew it would.  Portals like this were evil.  They tore families apart, and even if they made it through together, who knew what would be on the other side?  Rumplestiltskin would be weak and unable to protect his son.  _Again._

“It’s not.”  Bae looked so desperate, so full of belief—just like Rumple had been, once.  “It’ll be okay, I promise!”

Nimue snorted.  “He has _no_ idea what he’s talking about.”

Suddenly, the worst happened.  Bae lost his footing, almost slipping right into the swirling pit of evil.  Rumplestiltskin caught him, barely, hauling his son back towards himself.  Quickly, he stabbed the dagger into the ground, using it to haul them both away from the portal.  _I can hold him.  I can hold him long enough for it to close!_   But Bae looked at him like he was crazy.

“Papa, we have to go through!”  Bae looked down at the whirling power beneath him like it was salvation, but Rumplestiltskin shook his head, resisting.  “What are you doing? Papa, it won’t stay open long.  Let _go_!”

“No, papa, please! Help me!” Nimue’s voice sounded almost exactly like his own had when he was a child, and she leaned in close once more.  “If you go through that portal, you will lose _everything_.  Again.”

“I can’t.  I can’t.”

Bae tugged on his hand desperately.  “Papa, please!  It’s the only way we can be together!”

“Together without magic?” Nimue cocked her head.  “You’ll last a week, tops.  Then someone will kill you.  Maybe after killing your boy.  There’s no way to know, is there?”

“No, Bae!  I can’t!” 

“Papa, _please_.”

_What am I doing?_ Rumplestiltskin had sworn to put Bae’s happiness first.  He had promised himself that he’d go.  He had to.  This was what Bae wanted, and Nimue could be wrong, couldn’t she?  The darkness just didn’t want him to go.  He could do this.  He could be strong for his son—

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, as hard as iron.

“You’ll never be strong without magic,” Nimue whispered.  “You’ll be _nothing_.  But if he wants to go, why stop him?  Let go.  Let him have his way.  He’ll be better off without you.”

_“I can never be the father you need me to be,”_ his own father had said.   _“I'm too weak.”_ So was he.  He was just like his father.

Nimue’s eyes gleamed.  “Just let him go.  Give him up, and you’ll be powerful.”

“I _can’t_!”

“You coward!” Bae shouted, and Rumplestiltskin knew he was right.  He’d always been a coward, even with power.  “You _promised_.  Don’t break our deal!”

“Do it,” the Dark One hissed, and Rumplestiltskin felt his hand opening, felt his mind folding under.  He didn’t want to let go—but he _did_ want the power. He _burned_ for the power.  _I am nothing without it…but Bae will be better off without me._

“I have to!” The words came out on their own, absolutely without thought.  And then as Rumplestiltskin watched in horror, his hand opened—and it was the wrong one.  Not the one holding the dagger.  Baelfire fell through the portal, screaming for him. 

“Papa!”

Mechanically, Rumplestiltskin climbed out of the hole, his own pleas from a lifetime ago echoing in his ears, only now it was Bae’s voice, not Nimue’s, that his memory replayed.  The portal slammed shut, and his hand came off the dagger.  Then realization hit him like a ton of bricks, knocking him clean off of his feet and too his knees.  _He had abandoned his son._

“Bae? _Bae!_ No, no, no, no, no.  No, no, Bae. I’m sorry, Bae!”  Desperately, he began shoving soil aside, willing the portal to come back to life.  It couldn’t be gone.  _Bae_ couldn’t be gone.  “I want to come with you! I want to come with you, Bae!  I want to come with you! Bae! Bae! _Bae!_ ”

His howls met only silence.  Sobs shook his body as Rumplestiltskin tried to dig his way into the portal, but only dirt flew.  He summoned all the power he had, beating it into the ground and trying to _tear_ the portal back open, but nothing happened.  Bae was gone, and _he had let him go_.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t know how long he sobbed and struggled, but finally, soft laughter reached his ears.

Nimue applauded gently once he looked up.  “Well done.  I believe my work here is complete.” 

“What did you make me do?” Scrambling to his feet, Rumplestiltskin lunged for her with the dagger, but Nimue just disappeared.  “Come back!” Rumplestiltskin howled, the words choking sobs.  “Come back undo what you did!”

“It wasn’t us, little man.”  Spinning around, Rumplestiltskin found himself face to face with Zoso again.  “It was all you.”

“No!  No, I would _never_ abandon my son.  Never!”

“It turns out that you’re just like your own papa, doesn’t it?” Zoso laughed.  “Maybe you were never meant to be a father, either.”

“ _No!”_

“It’s price time, little man.”  Zoso leaned in as Rumplestiltskin fell back to his knees, sobbing his soul out.  “I told you this would happen.  You saved all the children.  Now you’ve lost your own.”

“Bring him back,” Rumplestiltskin sobbed.  “Please, bring him back.  I’ll do anything.”

“But you can’t.  You already sent him away.”

“I _didn’t!_ ”

“You let go of him.  We didn’t force you.  You _wanted_ to,” Zoso taunted him, leaning close again. 

“I wanted to go with him!  I promised him.”  He tried to bite his lips to keep the tears in, but Rumplestiltskin couldn’t stop crying.  All of his life, he had promised himself that he’d be _nothing_ like his father, that he’d never abandon any child of his…and he’d done just that.  Bae had trusted him, and he had let go. 

“You did.”  Zoso smiled.  “But that little sliver of you that wanted power more than it wanted him, the coward who’ll always exist in the back of your mind, that was enough.  That’s all the darkness needed, all _we_ needed.  You wanted to keep your power, so _you_ made it happen.”

“I didn’t…”

“Deny it all you want, little man.  Denial only makes the darkness stronger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chapter 8—“A New Man,” in which Rumplestiltskin realizes that someone put Bae on the path to finding Reul Ghorm.


End file.
